Dance in the Dark
by ittykat
Summary: AU: Everyone in the school knows her. She's Rachel Berry. The blind girl. Filling a prompt from the LJ Drabble meme.
1. Dance in the Dark

**Title: Dance in the Dark**

**Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for language**

**Disclaimer: Don't own the characters. Title taken from the Lady Gaga track of the same name.**

**Characters: Puck, Rachel, Quinn, Finn, and the other Gleeks all feature**

**Word Count: 8500**

**Summary: AU: _Everyone in the school knows her. She's Rachel Berry. The blind girl. Filling this prompt drabble meme on LJ by beckingham: "A blind Rachel. AU or not, after some accident or from birth. Don't care." Hope you like it!_**

* * *

><p>Everyone in the school knows her. She's Rachel Berry. The blind girl. The Jewish girl with two gay dads who is super intense and has no friends. Everyone knows she's only here because her parents sued the school district for discrimination. She's the one who always looks like she got dressed in the dark.<p>

"You'd think that the two gay dads thing would mean that she'd at least look good," Santana says to him one day as they stand by her locker. "Aren't gay dudes meant to be super into fashion and all that shit? And yet they let her leave the house like someone took the worst things from my grandma's wardrobe and put them on a Raggedy Ann doll."

"Yeah." Puck says, watching intently as the Raggedy Ann in question bends over to pull something from that ridiculous pink trolley case and he thinks for a minute that he saw a glimpse of something yellow underneath that tiny plaid skirt, but then she stands up straight to file some books back in her locker. He lets out a disappointed hiss.

"Hey, asshole-" Santana punches him in the shoulder, hard, and he catches her fist with a frustrated grunt before she can hit him again. "I'm talking to you."

"I was listening!"

"You were scamming on man-hands, I saw!" The cheerleader narrows her eyes and pushes his hand off and punches him again before stalking off in the direction of the girl's bathroom.

"Yeah, fuck off." He calls down the hallway, totally getting the last word in. You'd think that bicurious bitch would be all about appreciating a fine set of pins, no matter who they were attached to. Finn'd appreciate them if he were here. Where is that enormous klutz anyway? They were supposed to have a Mario Kart tournament the day before and he'd bailed, and these days he's distant or some shit. Puck doesn't know what that's about, but he figures that it's his duty as the best friend to knock him back to normal.

* * *

><p>"My mom says that she was dropped on her head as a baby and her brain damage is proof that fags can't raise children."<p>

* * *

><p>God she's annoying. She's that girl in class who always knows the answer, always has been, and Jesus it gets on his nerves. It's like she has no volume control, too, like, hello, did no one ever explain the indoor-outdoor voice definition? No need to freakin' yell out to the entire class that the derivative of whatserthing is 43, no one cares anyway. It's math. He was napping and her yelling woke him up.<p>

So when the teacher's not looking he leans forward and tugs sharply on her ponytail, making sure to snag the elastic as well to mess it up and make it sit awkward for the rest of the period.

Not only is he pissed at Finn for lying about his mom having and engorged prostate, but he's pissed that he discovered the lie because he googled 'engorged prostate'. You can't unsee the shit you find on google images.

He follows his best friend to the auditorium and watches the five nerds prance around with his best friend, looking like they're having the time of their life singing that old-ass Journey song. It's disgusting... But...

Don't tell anyone, but the first time he hears Berry sing, he's kind of blown away. People in real life don't sing like that, and their music doesn't make his spine tingle and goosebumps erupt all over his skin.

* * *

><p>"It was an act of God. No one that ugly should have to look at themselves in the mirror every day and see <em>that so he took pity on her and poked out her eyes."<em>

* * *

><p>He is holding a slushy in his hand, and she's walking down the hallway, tapping that cane against the ground as she walks. He toys with the lid, getting his fingernail under the lip of it off so he can just <em>toss it on her when she walks past. She'd never know it was him, it'd take her fucking ages to get the corn-syrup out of her moose sweater.<em> Hey. Maybe it'd be an improvement, his inner Santana voice says bitchily.<em>_

But then, she glances his way. Well, doesn't glance, because she can't see shit, but her head twists and it _feels as though she's looking straight at him, and he realises that he was seriously considering slushying a blind chick. Who the fuck does that? He snaps the lid back on the drink and storms past her down the hall. And all he does is kick her damn cane out of the way of his ankle as he passes._

Later, in the locker room, he confronts Finn about the lie. "Chicks don't have prostates, asshole. I googled it." He spits, pushing his friend up against the equipment storage room door. Finn bats his hands away.

"Lay off, man." Finn says. He punctuates his next words with a shove back: "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You lied to me!"

"Well you're being a dick."

"You're joining homo-explosion now? What the hell, you're like, committing social suicide and for what? The chance to bang the blind chick? Quinn will give it up eventually, trust me, you ain't got no reason to jump to the charity cases just yet."

Finn stares at him, as though trying to figure out which part of Puck's hissed little speech he should attack first. "It's not like that, man." He finally says and backs away. "I enjoy singing. Rachel is nice and all, but I'm not doing this to sleep with her."

Puck runs a frustrated hand through his mohawk. Finn just doesn't _get it, the dumbass. "So sing in the shower, where _no one can see you do it."__

"No. I'm not quitting glee." Finn says firmly. "You'll just need to get over it... and don't pretend you don't enjoy singing too. You could join too."

"What the fuck ever, man. Your social suicide, don't drag me into it."

* * *

><p>Quinn comes to him that weekend, crying about Finn and Glee and that blind girl and her jeans not fitting, and the only way he figures out how to shut her up is to ply her with his mom's wine coolers. What happens after that is kind of a blur because she lets him finger her but gets freaked out and leaves when he tells her to return the favour.<p>

The next day she's coerced Santana and Brittany in joining homo explosion with her and although he doesn't really know how it happens, (it's probably because Glee's black-hole power knows no bounds) but he joins the stupid club with a couple of the other footballers. Football and Beyonce are involved, and say what you will but that chick is hot. But maybe that's just his excuse, the one he says out-loud. Maybe he does it because every time he looks at Quinn he feels this strange mix of guilt and burning _want. Maybe he does it because Finn was right, and he actually does like singing. Maybe he does it because he knows that dudes who sing get more game than dudes who's only achievement in life is owning their own pool-cleaning business in Ohio._

So there he is, listening to that Spanish teacher talk about scales and harmonies and accompaniments and he might as well just throw the slushy in his own face now.

* * *

><p>"Her mom did it. That's why she doesn't have a mom, because she went crazy one day and mutilated her as a baby, now <em>she's in some facility up in Columbus and she'll never see again."<em>

* * *

><p>They're both early to Glee one day, and don't ask him why, but he decides to talk to her. Curiosity killed the cat or some shit. It's one of McKinley's great mysteries anyway: why is Berry blind? Everyone knows the story about Artie and the car crash, and that Becky chick's deal is sort of obvious, but the rumor mill hasn't cranked out anything credible about this particular conundrum. "So what happened?" He asks bluntly, unsnapping the latches on his guitar case to pull the instrument out. He wants to use it in a performance today and he decides to tune it before the others get here, save him the trouble of doing it later.<p>

"What happened when? You'll need to be more specific." Rachel says from her seat in the front row. Her cane is folded up and on the chair beside her.

"Were you born blind, was there an accident, what?"

She turns her head sharply and says primly: "It's personal. I'd rather not say."

"Fine. Whatever." He plucks his E string and twists the tuning peg a little until it sounds right then moves onto the A string.

"The E is still a little flat." She interjects as he begins to pluck at the new string.

"How can you tell?" He frowns, and plucks the E string again. "It sounds fine to me."

"I have perfect pitch." Rachel says firmly, and angles her head so her ear is facing the guitar. It's like watching a dog perk up when you blow a whistle. "It's not very far off, just a little more."

He twists the tuning peg another fraction tighter. "There?"

"Yes. That's right." She smiles and looks accomplished.

He moves back to the A string, plucking at it and slowly tightening the peg until she nods gently to signal it's right. "Is that like a Daredevil thing?"

"I'm sorry." She looks blank. "I don't understand the reference."

"He's this blind super hero, but all his other senses are like, super awesome to compensate for it, and he kicks ass and takes names. They made a movie with Ben Affleck."

"I only watch musicals." She shrugs. "And while I suppose its a possibility that my hearing is superior to yours because of my ocular deficiency, I don't see how it's particularly beneficial, and I certainly can't use it to capture the criminal element. I can't even tell who keeps pulling my hair in math."

He hopes she can't hear how hollow his laugh is, as luckily the rest of the Glee club start filing into the choir room, Finn and Quinn walking in together hand-in-hand behind Mercedes and the gay kid.

Quinn spares a very brief glance in his direction, before narrowing her eyes at Rachel and pulling Finn to the chairs furthest away from where the brunette is sitting. Rachel, of course, sees none of this and instead stays in her chair impatiently tapping her toes against the vinyl flooring as Mr Schuester is now late.

Puck leans back in his chair and watches them all. Quinn had cornered him the other day, and in a fit of frustration had started bitching about the private singing lessons Rachel and Finn took together with Mr Schuester cutting into her make-out time with her boyfriend, and Puck could tell that her jealousy was starting to ramp up again. This time Puck plans on staying right away from that, because he still feels weirdly guilty about the last time and honestly, Puck doesn't really know what she's so worried about- Finn might be dumb as a post, but he isn't a cheater, and Berry hasn't exactly got a rep for being a man-eater or anything. Quite the opposite, really, despite how short her skirts can be.

Mostly he doesn't want to be used again, and he knows that's what it was. She wanted to forget for a bit, and sure he was good at that, but there is no way it won't end badly if it happens again.

* * *

><p>He sees Rachel at Temple sometimes, sitting between her dads. It's the only time he's ever seen her anywhere without that stupid cane, but that's because her fathers are always holding her hands. They talk quietly amongst themselves and when the service is over and the congregation gathers in the community hall for refreshments they usually don't stay for very long. Her black Dad gets the Rabbi's attention at one point and her other father steps away to refill his coffee, leaving her alone in a chair against the wall.<p>

He watches as one of the older ladies approaches her and has what looks like an extremely cheerful conversation for a few minutes before moving onto grab some apple tea cake from the food table.

For a moment, he considers going over and sitting beside her, because he's bored, and she's clearly alone- why he cares that she's alone, he has no freakin' idea. It's just that now that they're both in Glee they kind of have something in common, even if she's completely obsessed with it and he's still not entirely sure why he joined in the first place. Sure, maybe he finds it kind of fun, and he likes being around people who actually enjoy singing and aren't afraid to hide it.

But her Dads are back at her side within the minute, and soon enough they're saying their goodbyes and taking their daughter home.

* * *

><p>Have you ever tried choreographing a routine with a blind chick, a dude in a wheelchair and Finn? It's a nightmare. He doesn't know why Schue bothers trying to up the fancy level-there was some speech about 'vibrant performances' and 'competitive choreography' that Puck tuned out of. But here they are in the auditorium and the Glee instructor is demonstrating with Brittany the safest way to do a dip without throwing out your back or dropping your partner on the ground. Apparently their performance of Take Me Out needs that particular maneuver to really impress the judges at Sectionals.<p>

Quinn's attitude towards him has been icy cold this week (which suits him just fine) and is sticking to Finn like glue. Brittany is demonstrating with Schue and Santana is looking to bang Matt so is taking any excuse to get her hands all over him. The Asians partner off and Mercedes and Kurt have their little fag-hag thing going which leaves him with a very nervous looking Berry.

"Mr Schuester, I'm not comfortable doing this." She says, hands folded in front of her. "Surely Artie and I could partner up during this song, and Brittany and Noah can work together instead."

"No that won't really work. Don't worry Rachel, this is going to look amazing." The choir teacher says with a dismissive wave. He has a stupid giddy smile on his face like he's had the best idea since sliced bread or some shit. Puck thinks that this is gonna be a train-wreck and wishes he had his phone on him so he could film when Finn inevitably tripping up and dropping Quinn and the epic tantrum she'll throw just after. He'd put that shit on YouTube- serves Quinn right for being a total bitch to him just because she feels guilty or jealous some shit about what they did in his room that night.

"I'm sure it will, Mr Schuester, but..."

Schue shakes his head and gestures for the band to start playing the music at half-time so they can get a feel for the movement in time to the beat. "Just give it a try, Rachel."

Puck reaches out and grabs her shoulder, and she jumps perceptively beneath his palm. "It's me." He says to her so she can hear. "I won't drop you or anything. I'm not an asshole."

Rachel doesn't really relax at all, but she does turn to face him and nods dejectedly. "Teach me what to do." She says and holds out her hands for him to take.

He places her hand on his shoulder and lets his own drift to her waist. He can feel her muscles tight beneath her argyle vest and even between the layers of fabric he can tell she's quite fit. He wonders what she does for exercise. "My mom made me take dance lessons before my Bar Mitzvah." He says casually, taking her other hand and leading her into a very slow back and forth that somewhat resembles a foxtrot. She moves with sudden jerks, resisting his lead. When he steps forward, she only reluctantly steps back when their pelvises bump together, and then he has to tug her with a little more force than necessary so she stumbles back into their original position.

"Geeze, Berry." He says with a huff at her rigidity. "Relax, already."

"Surely you understand why this is disconcerting for me." She says snappishly, her cheeks flushing a deep red. He wonders if she knows she's blushing, or is that something you only notice if you can see yourself doing it. Either way, he can read her face like a book: She isn't in control and so she wants to bail.

"I already said I won't drop you, what else do I need to do to get you to trust me on that?" He asks, leaning close so that the others dancing around them, dipping and swaying, can't hear their conversation.

She frowns at him and her lips purse into a dangerously thin line. Even her nostrils flare a little. "I don't know why I shouldn't trust the person who kicks my cane when I'm walking down the hall and who threw gum in my hair last year. Maybe you can help me figure it out."

He lets out a groan. Yeah. She's blind. _They all know. "That's in the past, Berry. We're in the now, now, and I won't drop you and you need to loosen up."_

"I am loose." She says, and he feels a muscle in her neck twitch. He laughs because _shit, he's never felt muscles this tense in his life, and yet she thinks that if she just says it it'll be true. "I just keep hearing everyone moving around us, and when I step back I worry I'm going to walk into someone. Or that someone will walk into me."_

"That's my job, to make sure we don't. That's why it's called 'taking the lead'."

"I _know that, but knowing that and being able to do it are two separate things."_

"It's because you don't trust me."

"No. I don't." She lets go of his hand and steps back. "I can't do this."

He glances over at Mr Schuester, who has his hands full making sure Finn doesn't drop Quinn on her head- really, Rachel is in much better hands with him and here she is, freaking out about it. "Berry." He says, frustration evident in his voice. "Chill out."

"No. This is ridiculous, I want to stop. No one expected Stevie Wonder to dance about, they just appreciated his beautiful music." She turns and takes a few tentative steps towards the piano where Brad is tinkling away. It's where she left her cane when they spread out across the stage. She has her hands stretched out in front of her a little as she walks, to warn her of any wayward dancers. Puck follows behind her, exasperated; watching as she narrowly avoids Mercedes dipping Kurt to her left. She smoothes her hand across the side of the piano, and reaches out across the top of the grand, tapping gently around until her pinky nudges the cane. She snatches it up and flips it open, and before anyone has the chance to stop her, she's marching backstage and out of the auditorium.

* * *

><p>"You know what's supposed to make you blind? Touching yourself. You know... <em>there. I bet that's what happened. It's not like she's got other options or anything."<em>

* * *

><p>Puck is in his bedroom, staring at the ceiling at the band posters and magazine spreads he'd stuck up there during the summer. Kim Kardashian is the shit. He closes his eyes. He can hear his sister in her room down the hall, and the Jonas brothers song she's listening to on his old CD player. He hears the clink of glass knocking against metal, probably his mother downstairs doing the washing up. The space heater in the corner of his room is humming, and he can feel the way the warmth is distributed around the room by the glowing red elements.<p>

He sits up and swings his legs around and off the bed but keeps his eyes closed. The carpet is rough against his toes, and he can feel something just beside his left foot. Maybe one of the shoes he discarded earlier? He stands and walks towards the door, eyes still closed. It's only about three steps away. He stretches his hand out so that he can feel the door before he hits it. One, two, three, but he still hasn't felt the door with his hand. He takes a fourth and runs into the closed door, though not hard enough to hurt. Maybe he doesn't know his room as well as he thinks.

He ghosts his hand out and grasps the doorknob, then reaches with the other to grab the edge of the door at about the level of his face so that he can open it and not brain himself as he does it.

The light changes. It's darker out here than in his room, he can feel it through his eyelids. The light in the hallway must be switched off, but the sound of the Jonas Brothers is louder now, no longer muffled by the door. It echoes down the hallway, and when he breathes in deep he can smell that his mother has lit up a cigarette while she watches The Real Housewives of Atlanta and does the dishes. It's probably sitting in the ashtray above the sink on the windowsill.

He turns and walks towards the bathroom, trailing his hand along the wall so that he knows how far to walk. He passes the door to his mother's room, fingers noting the ridge of the doorframe, the inset door, and then the other side of the doorframe about a step away. The Jonas Brothers is loudest now, as he passes his sister's room on the right side of the hall. He can smell nail polish. So much for doing her English homework.

Then there is a sharp hard pain in his shin, and a crash, and his eyes snap open as he sees that stupid ugly umbrella stand with the isharp/i edges his mother found at some charity store last year in the hallway. He'd forgotten it was there. He looks down at his shin, there is an angry red line and a bead or two of blood there. _Shit._

He stalks straight down the hallway and slams the bathroom door behind him before his mom and sister can check what caused the crash. He snatches a wad of toilet paper and holds it against his shin where it soaks up the blood. It's red against his palm and stings like a motherfucker.

* * *

><p>"Hey Berry." He calls out across the hall as she arrives at her locker. It has an adhesive Braille marker stuck to the metal and unlike the rest of the students she has a regular padlock with a key instead of a combination lock. It's much easier to pick- he used to break into it sometimes when she was in class and shift her books around. Dick move, he knows. He hasn't done it in like, three months.<p>

"Good morning, Noah." She says primly, resting her cane between her hip and her pink roller suitcase as she inserts her key into the padlock. Again, he wonders if she realizes how easy she is to read, her skin flushes red and he knows that she's embarrassed about how she reacted in Glee yesterday. He wishes that she could see him that she could just read his face and see his apology written in the lines of his mouth like everybody else can.

"Morning." He says back, resting against the block of lockers to her side. "I'm sorry you got freaked out yesterday." He says quickly, wanting to get the stupid thing out of his way. These feelings of guilt and second-hand embarrassment have been eating away at him, and he wants to clear the air or some shit. "And I'm sorry I've been a dick to you before, kicking your cane and shit."

All this time she has been putting things in her locker, Braille labeled textbooks, a clunky looking net book, her lunch tote. The inside of her locker is rather bare, most girls have a mirror and a calendar, and usually a framed picture of Justin Beiber or whatever douche bag actor they're in love with this week (Quinn has a picture of Jesus in hers) but hers has nothing. She doesn't stop putting her things away, and she doesn't turn to face him, but she does say: "Apology accepted."

"Are we good, now?" He asks, watching her fingers skim the edges of her textbooks until she finds the right one. It's a novel they're studying in English, but she has the Braille edition. His copy has a cover with a stupid weird abstract tree on the cover; hers is more like a photocopied binder. The only reason he knows it's the same book is that it has 'The Garden of Forking Paths - Jorge Luis Borges' written in a very basic font on the front cover. The rest is just bumpy dots.

"We're fine, Noah." She says.

"See you in Glee this afternoon?" He asks and she shuts her locker and clicks the padlock tight again. The key to the lock is slipped into a pocket hidden in the folds of her polka-dot dress.

"I'll be there." She grips her cane and her pink trolley case and without so much as a goodbye, she's off down the hall once more.

* * *

><p>"And she looked in the mirror and said three times: Bloody Mary... Bloody Mary... Bloody Mary. They could hear her say it through the door. Then there was a scream, and Bloody Mary had plucked out her eyes... You know. Metaphorically or whatever."<p>

* * *

><p>"Are you kidding me?" Quinn has pulled him aside after football practice one afternoon. They're in the equipment shed and he can't get past how it smells like Tanaka's sweaty feet in here.<p>

"What the fuck, Quinn?" He says grumpily. He just had an awful training session, he just ran something like 40 laps and all he wants is a hot shower, something from Burger King and a few hours wasting time playing Mario Kart before crawling into bed, but this blonde, hormonal teenage _girl is getting in his way. She hasn't turned on the lights, but he can tell that her face is twisted into that ugly expression that girls faces get when they're being _unreasonable bitches. It's a look he sees on his mom all the time.__

"What is it with you _boys and... _Her?"__

"What?" He hates vague questions with a passion.

"Rachel Berry. I saw you at her locker yesterday, what are you doing with her?"

Puck stares at her through the darkness. He will never ever understand girls. This one especially. First she ignores him. Then she's all over him and cheating on her boyfriend with him, and then ignoring him again. Now she's getting possessive of him? _Fuck that._

"How the hell is it your business?" He says hatefully. He usually tries to keep his anger in check, but she has been treating him like shit for weeks. It's taking more control than he likes not to lash out physically. "You made it pretty clear I wasn't allowed to talk to you, let alone-"

She starts yapping angrily over the top of him. "You know how I feel about her and yet you go after her anyway. She is _stealing my life and she's getting away with it because she's basically Helen Keller and can play the sympathy card and everyone is falling for it."_

"You are such a self-centered bitch, you know that? The world does not revolve around _you."_

"Oh my gosh that is not even what I _said."_

"So you expect me to just stand and wait on the sidelines until Finn finds that I finger-fucked you and breaks it off. I'm not the damn substitute teacher, Quinn, and who I spend my time with is none of your damn business."

"I know what you're doing. You're doing this to make me jealous."

Puck runs a hand across his mohawk, frustrated with just how stupid this girl is, and also at himself for letting himself get dragged into a storage shed by a 110 pound girl when he knew that this was the sort of shit she'd pull. "I'm not. I'm not doing anything to get back at you."

"Then what are you doing hanging out with man-hands? Why string her along, or is this some sick thing where you seduce disabled kids now? I guess its your lucky day: Becky is pretty easy now that Coach Sylvester has let her on the squad."

"Fuck you, Quinn. Oh wait. I basically already did." He pushes her away from the door she'd been blocking and escapes the stinky equipment shed as quickly as he can. He quickly catches up with Azimo and Mike loudly enough so that Quinn can hear from behind the door. She won't risk coming out now that there are witnesses around to start rumours and gossip, and Puck makes his escape. Sure, the chick is hot, but she's got issues and he is so sick of the small-town high school drama that she thrives on to make her life feel important and meaningful.

But he can't help but acknowledge that she hit a nerve, bringing up Rachel like that. He tries not to think about what that means.

* * *

><p>It's a few weeks later, when Sectionals is looming at the end of the month, that Puck decides that everyone involved in Glee needs to like, get a life, or get laid or something, because Jesus H, it's fucking <em>show choir not the end of the world as we know it.<em>

Mr Schue is fretting over their performances after an impromptu "Scrimmage" he set up with the choirs they'd be competing against. The group were loud, and proud, and honestly a lot more impressive than everyone gave them credit for, and so Schue was on the prowl, looking for ways to get an edge on the competition.

Even Puck could admit that they'd surprised him. He'd heard things about those Jane Addams Academy girls and their vocal talents, but he'd always assumed that was a euphemism, not a statement of actual fact. They were _juvie girls. But they'd certainly been impressive up there on stage, singing that Beyonce song._

"I've decided at Sectionals this year we'll be doing the title song from _Hair, the classic musical!" The Spanish teacher says with a cheerful grin._

"Wait- if we're going to do a song about hair, shouldn't we, you know, have more hair?" Finn asks awkwardly, and Mr Schuester grins, like he was just _waiting for someone to ask that._

And clearly he was, because he produces from behind his back a duffel bag filled to the brim with wigs, and begins to hand them out to everyone, exclaiming at how cheap he'd found them at a costume shop down on Wellington Av.

Despite the enthusiasm of their leader's announcement and the generally noisy reaction he gets from the group, who're now modeling the wigs for each other, no one misses the very loud noise of discontent that Rachel makes- sort of like a choking noise.

"Are you serious?" She asks, a look of disgust written plainly across her face. She is holding her wig gingerly away from her, pinched between forefinger and thumb.

Everyone looks suitably confused at her reaction. Surely the Broadway lover would be all over the addition of a musical song for their competition repertoire. Mr Schue seems to decide that he misheard her and says: "Pardon, Rachel?"

She doesn't falter. "Are you seriously changing our song-selection for Sectionals because of that performance we witnessed yesterday?"

"No!" Schue sputters and waves her off, "I think that it's time we mix thing up a little to give ourselves the competitive edge!"

Rachel doesn't look convinced. Instead, she turns to Tina who is sitting next to her, in the seat between her and Finn and Quinn. "Finn, could you please describe to me the performance you watched yesterday? Clearly I must have missed a vital element of their performance. Being blind often means I miss out on important details which most people take for granted."

"Huh?"

"Were they good dancers? It must've been very intricately choreographed." She presses on, then twists a little to get clarification from other members of the group, because even she knows that interrogating Finn about dance steps probably is a little silly. "Mike? Santana?"

"It wasn't that complicated." Mike pipes up.

Rachel nods, like she already knew this, but doesn't let Mr Schue take back control of the conversation just yet. "Alright, so if it wasn't the dancing, surely they were all extremely attractive girls. Perhaps their costuming was particularly scanty? Kurt, what did you think about their outfits? Puck? Were they attractive?"

Puck knows not to answer that question because there is _no way it's not a trap. Instead, he kicks the back of Kurt's chair to force him to answer instead. Kurt looks taken aback, both at Rachel for the sudden intense questioning and at Puck for the violence against his seat and glances about the room for support. "Um..."_

"You are always commenting on the things I wear, so I assume that you consider yourself fairly knowledgeable on the topic." Rachel says lightly.

"Well, they weren't the classiest outfits I've seen a show choir wear," Kurt says slowly, "But honestly I was mostly distracted by their hair."

"What did they do?"

"Lots of flipping it around everywhere." Rachel nods smugly, with a strange glint in her eye, as though _this was what she was waiting for._

"Mr Schuester," She says calmly. "You were tricked. They weren't very good vocally and they're probably very aware that their strengths do not lie in their choral talents, but in their _other assets, and I don't wish to make a hasty accusation, but this is a school for delinquent girls, if there is anything they can do well, it is distract and seduce in order to pull your attention from the crimes they are committing, which in this case was one against _my _ears. Their lead singer was flat for a full verse!"___

Rachel finishes with a theatrical shudder that wracks her whole frame, and the rest of the club simply _stares, until Mr Schuester finally breaks the silence with one final attempt to save his assignment:_

"But... It's a Broadway classic!"

Rachel smiles back at him. "You are very right, it _is a Broadway classic and a _fantastic song and musical, but it is not right for us and I believe that it would be best if we focus our energy on the wonderful numbers we're currently working on instead of introducing completely new material to the group so close to the competition."__

And so that's how they get out of wearing those nasty-ass wigs.

* * *

><p>They go on a field trip on a Saturday to the hall where Sectionals is going to be held. Except it's not really a real field trip where they go on school time. Mr Schue just told everyone to head to the venue on Saturday and gave them a time to meet and stressed that everyone be as punctual as possible. A few months back, Puck would've complained about giving up his Saturday for this shit- Saturdays are reserved for sleeping in til 2 in the afternoon and COD tournaments. But he knows they need to practice their routine a few times on this unfamiliar stage, and Artie needs to get a feel for the disabled access entrances to the theatre. So he set his alarm and drove two towns over to the venue. He's finishing his morning slushy as he wanders around from the car park at the side of the building, just in time to see Artie's mum finish dropping off Tina, Artie and Rachel at the curb. They must've carpooled.<p>

"P-puck!" Tina calls out to him from behind Artie's chair and Puck knows that it's just easier to come when hollered at, than to ignore them and mosey his way up to their agreed-upon meeting area.

"Yo." He says, fist-bumping his bro Artie in greeting. "'Sup?"

"Can you take Rachel in?" Artie asks, nodding to the brunette girl standing primly behind them, clutching her bright pink tote bag over one shoulder while holding her white-tipped cane in her other hand. "Tina needs to help me find the ramp and Rachel's never been here before."

Puck shrugs. "Sure, whatever."

"Thank you, I do appreciate it." Rachel says with a smile, and Tina and Artie head off in the opposite direction.

He takes her hand and guides it to his elbow where she takes a firm hold. She holds her cane straight and raised up from the ground in her other hand. "What do you need me to tell you?" He asks uncertainly.

"When we're approaching stairs, if there is anything I should duck to avoid."

"Uh huh." He says, and begins walking towards the main entrance. Her grip tightens a little as he is walking at quite a brisk pace, mostly because they're already a bit late, and Schue had made such a big deal about everyone being on time, and sticking together, and team unity, and while he's been here before, he doesn't want to risk missing up on meeting the group. Plus, he's chaperoning the group's main soloist, it's a responsibility or some shit.

"Noah." Rachel says, sounding rather strained. "Can you slow down a little?" And Puck realizes that while her legs may be awesome to look at, they are pretty stumpy. Or rather, she's pretty stumpy, and yeah, he probably was walking a bit on the fast side.

"Sorry." He reels it back in and tries to match his steps to hers. She loosens her grip a little, but it's still firm enough for him to be hyper-aware of it. "We have some steps coming up." He says.

"Up or down?"

"Up."

He slows down a little as they hit the stairs, and lets her dictate the pace they take them. "So how come you don't have a guide dog?" He asks as step up one, two, three, four, and then the last step before it levels out once more. "Don't they help blind people get around without help?"

"Yes they do." She nods. "In the sense that they are trained to warn me of environmental features I can't navigate myself, but they don't come with on-board GPS, I'd still need to know the route for one to be useful."

"So why don't you use one at school?"

"Several reasons. It's a familiar setting already, and consistent, each floor of the school has the same layout, bathrooms at the same position on every floor-"

"Steps up, soon." He interrupts, and she nods.

"Then there is the fact that dogs are not so effective when surrounded by crowds of people, which is inevitable at a school."

"They get distracted." He says, catching on. He'd never had a dog as a pet, but he'd played with his neighbors' dog a lot when he was younger. Dogs were fun, sure, but lost interest in stuff pretty quickly sometimes.

"No, not really. They're highly trained to focus on their task. The issue lies with the fact that most people don't realize that they are not pets to be fawned over, too many people at school would try and pet it, or encourage its attention elsewhere."

"Oh." They reach the stairs and take them without incident. Rachel adjusts her grip on his elbow a little, flexing and twitching her fingers around the muscles there.

"Also, I'm allergic to dogs." She says flippantly.

He chuckles. "Bummer."

"Yeah. It sucks."

* * *

><p>He asks his mom a few nights later, if she knows why Rachel is blind. She's a nurse, but she works in that nursing home near Lincoln Park, and she has done since before he was born, so she wouldn't know from first-hand knowledge or anything, but if there is one thing his mother is, it's a gossip.<p>

"Rachel Berry, the one with the two dads?" She asks, cigarette dangling from one hand while she prods their TV dinner with a fork in her other hand.

"Yeah, that's her. She's my age. You've seen her at temple."

She shovels a pile of mashed potato onto her fork and scrunches her face up in consideration. "I remember when they adopted her, I was 6 months along with you, they brought her along to temple to show her off. She was this little runty thing, a bit sickly and she was always crying and interrupting Rabbi Greenberg so one of them was always taking her outside to calm her down."

She draws on the cigarette a little, and gestures to him. "Then you were born. I was in hospital for about a week, and I think she got sick or something, they took her to some fancy kids hospital in Columbus."

"How was she sick?" He hacks of a bit of his own chicken fillet and shovels it into his mouth.

"I don't remember." She snaps, flicking ash off the end of the cigarette into the ashtray beside her. "I had other things on my mind, you were a fucking nightmare child, crying all the time, I never got any sleep, I wasn't thinking about other people's babies. Why do you care anyway? You should leave that poor girl alone."

He considers playing the offended card at her tone, but decides he can't be bothered. His ma knows him and the shit he pulls, and honestly it's not worth the effort to fight back sometimes... "She's in glee club." He says.

"That choir thing?"

"Yeah. She has a really good voice."

She narrowed her eyes at him again. He'd told her about Glee before this, but he wasn't completely sure she believed him. In fact, he was like 90% sure that she thought it was just him making up shit so that he could get out of picking his sister up from school twice a week. Which sure, was the sort of shit he pulled, but not this time. "If I find out you've _done anything to that girl, so help me, I will..."_

He tunes her out, and focuses back on Sister Wives and the nasty-ass dinner they're eating. He's heard this shit before, he could probably recite it himself.

* * *

><p>"She has AIDS. That makes you blind. Doesn't it?"<p>

* * *

><p>It was always going to happen. Secrets don't stay secrets in Lima, least of all at McKinley High. He knows the cat is out of the bag- that Quinn blabbed to someone, who told someone else, until finally Finn found out, when Finn storms straight into the choir room and sucker-punches him right in the jaw.<p>

One of the girls screams in surprise, and the punch dazes him for long enough for Finn to get him twice more, once high up on the cheek, and then just after he finally gets it together enough to bring his hands up to protect his face, Finn hits him hard in the solar plexus before Mr Schuester, Matt and Mike finally pull Finn and his pummeling fists off him.

It all comes out then, Finn demands the truth, and though Puck stays stonily silent behind the wall of Gleeks standing in between him and his best friend, the look on Finn's face makes him feel like the worst sort of dirt. Quinn starts crying, and it's all a big fucking mess.

Everything is always such a fucking mess, with him, isn't it?

* * *

><p>The last rehearsal before sectionals, he stays in the choir room long after everyone else leaves, plugs his ipod into the stereo system and pulls out his guitar to figure out the chords of this song that's been stuck in his head. Don't ask him why, but he doesn't really want to go home just yet, and this song has been bugging him for so long, if he just figures it out maybe the damn ear-worm will leave and he can get back to listening to more upbeat music and being generally less depressed.<p>

But as he plays, all he thinks about is that he fucked everything up, and maybe he deserves to be a little depressed. Finn still isn't speaking to him, and Quinn still looks like she's on the edge of tears every time someone talks to her. By all rights their performance tomorrow will probably be a train wreck, with half the choir not speaking to the other half, but whatever. Mercedes still sounds kick-ass doing that song from Dreamgirls, and their performance of Don't Stop Believing doesn't rely on Finn having to have chemistry on stage with anyone other than Rachel, so they'll still be fine with that.

He just wishes that none of this had happened. He didn't like being that guy, the one that fucked over his best friend. Things had been starting to actually go well, since he joined Glee he and Finn had gotten closer, and Finn had been right all those months ago. He did like to sing, and _fuck him but he even liked singing with these losers._

Puck plucks away at the strings of his guitar, picking out chords and matching them to the song, riffing a little in the bridge, plucking the strings quickly until a the melody resonates out. He barely hears the door open, but stops playing when he sees Rachel shuffle her way over to the piano.

"Don't stop because of me." She says. "It sounded beautiful, I shouldn't have interrupted."

"Nah." He shrugs. "I should be going home anyway."

"What is this song?" She asks, talking over the stern piano chords that fill the otherwise empty choir room.

He chuckles a little, "Colorblind, by The Counting Crows." He says, slipping his guitar back into its case. "I heard it in a movie once and thought maybe I could learn to play it on my guitar."

"Which movie?"

"You wouldn't know it."

"I might!"

"Cruel Intentions." He says evenly, and then laughs a little when she frowns a bit, clearly not recognizing it. "It isn't a musical."

"You remembered!"

"Yeah." The song finishes, and begins again. He had it on repeat to memorize it quicker.

He closes the space between them and takes Rachel's hand gently. She doesn't start or jump away this time, though he'd forgotten to warn her he was coming. "Can I have this dance?" He asks quietly.

She nods. "Yes." and holds her other hand out for him to take. He places it on his shoulder and settles his free hand lightly on her waist. He moves slower this time, the music necessitates it, and also he knows it makes her more comfortable.

"The last time I danced I was four and standing on my daddy's shoes." She says quietly. "I remember it felt like I was flying."

"Well you can stand on my feet if you want," He offers, pulling her towards him in a gentle spin. "You weigh, what, 100 pounds? I bench press more than that at the gym."

_Pull me out from inside, Adam Duritz croons to them from the stereo. _I am ready, I am ready, I am fine.__

"Can I ask you something?" He says quietly, as they sway gently from side to side.

"Sure." She says and turns her head to face him more directly. Standing this close to her it's all the more disorientating that her eyes are out of focus- and yet he's never had the chance to really see what a deep shade of brown they are. They're really very pretty.

"Why keep it a secret?"

"Why keep what a secret?" Small wrinkles form on her forehead, and he has to admit that the question is a bit left of centre. He lifts their clasped hands and pushes gently at her hips, twirling her around once before catching her again, sweeping them gently away from the piano they'd drifted closer to.

"How you got this way. You know. Blind."

"What does it matter to anyone?" She asks in return. He considers it for a moment. He knows he mostly wants to know out of his desire to sate his curiosity. The united powers of the gossip mill of McKinley, his Temple, and Lima in general haven't been able to give him a solid, reliable answer, and he can't for the life of him think why the source herself is so tight-lipped on the issue.

"It doesn't..." He admits begrudgingly, after a moment, and shrugs. "And if you want it a secret, that's fine, I 'spose... I just don't know why it has to be."

"There's no reason why everyone has to know, except to sate their curiosity. It isn't something anyone could've prevented, it isn't contagious, and it isn't something that can be cured. I came to terms with that a few years ago, and I don't want people to find out and pity me, or treat me any differently."

"You do know that people still talk about it though, right? They say some pretty awful shit."

"Oh, what, like 'Rachel Berry is blind because god is punishing her dads for being sinful, faggot abominations'? Because that is so believable." She says flippantly, and waves the hand at his shoulder dismissively.

Puck laughs, then says in a mock serious tone: "This is Ohio, Rachel. They have a direct line to God, here."

She laughs as well, then shrugs. "The rumors will be there whether or not we tell everyone the truth. My family is private by nature, my fathers keep it that way for a reason. What matters to me is that they love me, and that I love them, and I would not be here if it weren't for them and their love, and whether or not I'm blind, I know it doesn't change that at all. The rumor-mongers in our community can pry all they like, but until they prove that they care about me and my family for more than simply new fodder for the fire, then I see no reason why I should tell anyone."

"I suppose I get that." He says, finally. "I wouldn't tell anyone, you know."

He lowers her into a dip, and pulls her back up to his chest

"That's nice to know." She says with a wan smile. "Maybe one day I'll tell you."

He smiles back, then tugs gently on her pony-tail. The song ends on a note that resonates throughout the room. _I am ready, I am fine. "Come on." He says. "I'll drive you home. Big day tomorrow. "_

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading! Please review!<p> 


	2. Under the Milky Way

She knows it's a cliche, but despite everything that's happened to her, all the bad things, she knows she's lucky. There are so many people out there just like her who don't have parents with money, who can't afford to live beyond their disadvantages, or whose situation is much more dire than her own.

But most people don't see what she sees. All that matters to them is that she isn't the same as them, isn't what they like to call 'normal', but ordinary has never been something she wanted to be.

If Rachel Berry knows one thing about herself, it's that she is extraordinary.

* * *

><p>On the day of the competition she is overwhelmed with anger, disappointment, and above all determination to <em>destroy<em> those who thought they could bring down her and her choir with so little effort. Luckily, they can all perform _Somebody To Love_ like a well oiled machine (and the stage directions for that performance do not require too much choreography- an area where she sadly needs more guidance than others for obvious reasons) and it turns out that Finn and Mr Schuester have been working on a fantastic arrangement of The Rolling Stones _You Can__'__t Always Get What You Want_ that is so simple in its execution that they have it practically perfect on their first try, which only leaves the ballad to be decided. Mercedes had proved beyond a doubt that she was more than capable of guiding the choir to victory with her rousing rendition of _And I__'__m Telling You_, but it was pirated by those criminal girls from the Jane Addams Academy.

"Mercedes, do you have anything else in your repertoire?" She asks, doing her best to keep calm, because even though she can't see their faces the vibe of the room suggests that they've all but given up.

"Yes," The other girl says, "But it's not as good as anything you're gonna sing."

"No, we agreed-"

"We agreed that I would sing '_And I__'__m Telling You__'_, and that ain't happening." Rachel hears Mercedes get up and walk across the room to her so that they're within arms distance. "Look Rachel, the truth is that you're the best singer that we've got."

"As much as it hurts me to admit it, and it does-" Kurt interjects from another corner of the room. "Mercedes is right. Rachel's our star."

Rachel feels her cheeks heat up, she very rarely hears praise from any of her fellow choir-mates, least of all Kurt, and part of her doesn't know how to react.

"If any one's going to go belt it on the fly, it should be her," Kurt finishes, and Mercedes makes a noise of agreement in her throat.

She's silent for a moment, and she fists at the handle of her cane a little nervously. "I do have something I've been working on since I was five." She says cautiously. "Though I think that someone will have to help me- I don't know the stage well enough to choreograph something 'on the fly', but it won't be a particularly compelling performance if I just stand in the middle of the stage and sing... We'll need to be compelling."

"We don't have enough time to rehearse anything, Rachel," Finn says mutely from the corner.

"I could help you," Noah pipes up, from the other side of the room. She twists her head from side to side, sensing that the two of them are having some sort of silent stand-off related to the Quinn debacle (as she calls it in her head), and while she doesn't pick up on the glares and non-verbal threats that she is sure are being tossed about, she can hear the tension in Noah's voice when he says: "We've been practicing together. We should be able to improvise something."

"Yes, I think so," Rachel agrees, her mind now whirring with possibilities. No matter what interpersonal drama this group is dealing with at present, she really doesn't have the time to humour it. She can trust Noah to keep her heading in the right direction and also to keep her from hurting herself. Together she's sure they can find a way to at least make it look remotely organised, or at least not completely amateur.

"Good news, guys," Mr Schuester says, finally entering the room. "I've managed to buy us about fifteen minutes more time to figure something out. Artie, I said you had a flat tyre and we needed to find a patch."

"Good thinking, Mr Schue," Artie says from his spot in the corner, and then with a dramatic (though honestly kind of cheeky) sigh, he continues on: "Those flats are always so dang inconvenient."

"While you've been gone, Mr Schuester, we've figured out what we're going to do, but it's going to be quite roughly done," Rachel says, stepping forward a little. "I will perform '_Don__'__t Rain On My Parade__'_ with Noah's assistance as our opening ballad." Rachel hears Kurt mutter a noise of general approval, which bolsters her a little. "Then together we'll perform the arrangement of '_You Can__'__t Always Get What You Want_' that you and Finn were working on, and we'll finish with '_Somebody to Love__'_, because, as Quinn rightly says, it's a true crowd pleaser, and we'll need to finish on something we know we can do perfectly, to make up for the other two songs."

They have enough time to run through everything twice, and block out some 'rough' choreography (Mike's words) for the new group number, before they're rushing to their marks about the auditorium. Noah leads her by the hand the entire way as they weave in and out of venue staff and patrons returning to their seats after the interval, smelling of popcorn and soda and the militant medicinal smell of dispenser soap from the restrooms.

"The song is about self-confidence and not letting people hold you back from being your best," She explains as he guides her through the crowds. Occasionally people bump into her, but Noah's hand remains tight around her own. "I think that it would probably be best if we did a to-and-fro sort of dance, and use that as a guise for you to show me what direction to go in."

"Sounds good," He says, finally corralling them into a quiet alcove that she figures must be quite close to the entrance way to the auditorium, as she can hear people not far from them, chattering as they walk past and into a more spacious echoey room.

"I'll squeeze your hand if I want you to let go, and I'll wiggle my fingers if I want you to come back."

"So like a tango, then."

"I've never danced a tango."

"There's a first time for everything, right?"

The ambient noise of the audience through the curtains in the main auditorium starts to dim, and she clenches her fingers a little tighter around Noah's hand.

"You'll be awesome," He says in a whisper, mouth close enough to her ear for her to feel the small hairs there flutter a little in his breath.

"I know," She whispers back, and smiles at him, a wide, toothy grin. "Just don't let me trip over the judges. I doubt that will go over well."

"Don't worry, Rachel. I got this." He promises, and guides her hand to the heavy velvet curtains. "Three steps down, but they're a little steep, so be careful."

The orchestra launches into the opening of her song, and she plasters the happiest grin she knows on her face, exuding all the confidence she feels, and trusts that Noah will guide her.

They win Sectionals, despite the viciously under-handed tactics of their competition. Rachel doesn't really care that someone on their own faculty handed over their set list to their direct rivals, she cares that those choirs (or at least their directors) believed so little in their charges that they would turn to cheating and actions that are tantamount to _fraud_ in order to beat them.

If that isn't a validation of their abilities as a show choir, she doesn't know what is.

* * *

><p>The high of winning sectionals lasts for at least a week, after which nothing gets Rachel down, and the final few weeks of school before winter break are some of the best she ever has. The Glee club rallies around her in support and acceptance in a way they never have before- thanks to her wonderful solo performance. She isn't the only one sharing in the glory either, with Puck getting a bit of credit for making sure she walked in the right direction. Finn still isn't talking to him at all, or Quinn for that matter, but the rest of the club have at least returned to their grudging acceptance of his presence in the room, with Tina admitting to her privately that he looked very handsome, and the whole performance didn't look at all like they were making it up on the fly.<p>

She walks down the halls without fear of harassment now. Sometimes she even has company. Before it was only ever Tina or Artie (sometimes both) but now Mercedes and Kurt seem to have warmed to her slightly. Tuesday morning she is surprised to find Finn waiting next to her locker. "You look nice," He says coyly, then offers to walk her to her next class, and takes her book bag from her before she really has time to say "Sure" in an embarrassingly squeaky voice.

"What are you doing for winter break?" He asks, taking her hand and fitting it into the crook of his arm .

"Well, Hanukkah was a few weeks ago, but usually we go visit my grandmother in Cleveland."

"That sounds nice," He says, and she smiles up at him.

"Yes, she's the only other person in my family who likes to bake. Her house always smells like cinnamon and vanilla.

"You can cook?" He sounds surprised.

She laughs a little, and flexes her fingers around the muscles in his arm. "Of course I can cook. Can't you?

"Oh. I just thought, you know..."

"Because I'm blind, I can't look after myself?" She asks, a little surprised.

"No!" He says quickly, stopping them in the middle of the hall. She can hear the students bustling around them in their hurry to get from classroom to classroom, a few of them even jostle them a little as they push through the crowd. "No, I didn't mean it like that, I just thought..."

"Finn. Relax. I'm not angry," She says, interrupting before he trips over his words anymore. It's not the first time she's butted up against the belief that she's helpless in the world because she can't see, and she can't find it in her heart to be angry at Finn, not after the month he's had, and so instead she chooses to use this as a chance for education. "My dads have always wanted me to be self-sufficient, to have as normal a life as possible, so that way when I eventually leave and go to college, I won't be out of my depth. We've had to make a few modifications around the house to help out, of course."

"Oh." He says dumbly, "I suppose that makes sense."

"If you like, you can come over sometime this weekend and I can show you what I mean! And then I could help you with that solo you're working on for Mr Schuester," She suggests, trying to remain confident despite the few evil misgivings that have set up camp in her belly.

"Sure. I'd love to. I can drive you home, if you want?"

"That'd be great!"

He drops her off at her math class and heads off down the hall for his own, and she knows that she has a stupid giddy smile on her face, but she doesn't have the heart to wipe it off and keep her happiness to herself today. She's been trying to get his attention for months, and though the whole drama with Quinn and Noah was regrettable in its timing, it's at least been good for her. She takes her seat near the front of the class and sets her notebook computer up at her desk, ready to take notes from the admittedly boorish Mrs Lieberman, but the happiness that she feels right now can't be brought down by anything.

It turns into a wonderful little routine. Finn walks her to class at least once a day (he tries to walk her to _every_ class, but it is a little impractical when she has Politics and Government on the opposite side of the school to his English Communication class) and every couple of days he drives her home and they practice songs for Glee, and some songs for fun, and Rachel is hard-pressed to remember a time that she was this happy and content just spending time with a fellow student.

On the last day of school before they leave for winter break, he says he has something for her, and stops them off at his own locker when walking them from their only shared class (Spanish, with Mr Schuester, of course) towards the cafeteria for lunch. "I have something for you," He says coyly.

"Is it a present?" She asks, excited. She knows that she told him her family doesn't celebrate Christmas, and that she didn't expect anything for the festive season, but, well, it _is_ the season, and she thinks that she's been getting signals from him for weeks now that he likes her, and she likes him too, so maybe this is just the moment she's been waiting for to admit her growing feelings towards him.

"Er. No. Not really. Well, kind of." He says awkwardly, and Rachel does her best not to let her face fall. She hears him twist the combination lock on his locker open and rifle around the books and paraphernalia that litters his locker. It smells a little unpleasant, like a mix of noxious male deodorant, rotting fruit and textbooks, but it is still a far better smelling locker than belongs to most of the boys at school so she doesn't comment

"Well, you can't blame me for getting excited," She says coyly. "Everyone loves presents."

"Yeah." He smiles, and presses a folder of papers into her hands.

"I printed this out for you to read, " He says, tapping the cardboard between her fingers gently. "You'll need to use that document reader you showed me the other week, but I think you'll like it."

"Thank you," She says, slipping the folder securely between her textbooks. "I'll take a look at it when I get home."

He takes her hand when she closes her locker and fits it into the crook of his elbow, like they have done so often these past few weeks. She flexes her fingers and adjusts her grip, hoping that he can't feel how clammy and nervous her hands are through the fabric of his sweater. If he does, he doesn't mention it, and walks her to class like normal.

* * *

><p>Her first few days of winter break are busy- busier than she wanted them to be, at least. She isn't so unlike her fellow students, she loves to sleep in and relax and unwind from the stress of school just as much as the rest of her friends, so she is a little resentful when her parents shanghai her into all sorts of social events when they know that she'd much rather be at home doing very little.<p>

She visits her Uncle and cousins a few towns across, and is forced to help host her parents wine and cheese night- a regular event on their social calendar. And while the people who attend are all close family friends who love Rachel, and who she loves in return, she craves a little time to herself- or at least for her time to be taken up by dates with her own friends, instead of her parents'.

She receives an email from Tina, inviting her to go caroling with her and her church's youth group. Rachel replies happily with a 'Yes!', because while she is Jewish and proud, she _never_ turns down an invitation to sing in public, and she does love Christmas carols. She's always found them extremely comforting, but has never been able to quite put her finger on why. Perhaps it is the layers of beautiful harmony, perhaps it is that they are so well known and oddly infectious, that even the worst singer in a group, or sometimes even the shyest, can't help but join in.

It's no surprise then, that it takes her until about halfway through her break to actually look over the folder that Finn gave her. As soon as she finds it slotted in with the rest of the homework she's been assigned over break, she feels guilty. What will he think? Her having taken so long to at what he'd given her. A scenario blooms in her mind, him waiting for her call or her email to thank him for whatever is in the folder- it's probably some music for them to learn together, or maybe it's a letter, though why he didn't send it to her by email she can't quite explain away.

She sets aside her homework- her history essay had been mostly done before break anyway, it can wait another day- and starts feeding sheets of printed paper into her document reader with enthusiasm, fingers eagerly skimming over the imprinted surface that emerges as the document reads and translates the words there into the Braille she reads.

_Researchers in Australia have come up with an outwardly simple but incredibly ingenious way of curing blindness caused by corneal damage: Take everyday contact lenses, already used by millions (including me), and infuse them with a patient's own stem cells. After wearing them for about 2 weeks, test subjects reported a seemingly miraculous restoration of sight. Is it that easy?_

Something tightens in her chest and her fingers hesitate instead of moving to read the next paragraph. She lets out a tight breath, before tugging the sheet out from inside the document reader. Her fingers search purposefully through the folder at her side, extracting the next sheet then feeding it through the reader.

_Scientists are getting closer towards being able to repair damaged optic nerves. _

_According to scientists at the Harvard Medical School, they have been able to regenerate the optic nerves of rats._

The Braille bumps send strange a strange tingling sensation through her fingers, which spreads up her arm and tightens further across her chest to the point that she feels her heart pumping in her chest. Why did Finn give her these? Was this a message to her? Is he trying to tell her something?

She inserts another sheet, this time from somewhere near the bottom of the pile, stoically thinking that perhaps there will be some music at the back like she originally thought.

_That injection made Johnson the first person ever to undergo gene therapy for an eye condition, although it may take months to determine if the procedure worked. A second patient received the same treatment shortly after Johnson, and 10 more will soon follow suit __—__ names and dates all undisclosed __—__ as part of a trial led by __…_

This time, she pulls the paper out with such force that it tears a little, and the sound it makes as it rips makes her stop, take a deep breath, and forcibly calm herself down. She carefully removes the rest of the sheet, being more careful this time so it doesn't tear any further, before neatly collating the papers, shutting down the reader, and packing it all away into one corner of her desk, where it can be easily ignored until she feels comfortable enough going through it again.

* * *

><p><em>Wish I knew what you were looking for.<em>

_Wish I knew what you would find_

* * *

><p><strong>quick author<strong>**'****s note: **I honestly intended the first part to be an open-ended one-shot (I am a fan of those) but reception to it was so good, and I still had a few ideas I had floating about, I decided to continue on. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, alerted and favourited part one! We can blame all this on you.

Things you can look forward to in the next part: Jesse St James, Shelby Corcoran and a difficult conversation.


	3. Stars Have Lost Their Glitter

**stars have lost their glitter**

The winter break ends too soon, and before she's really had enough time to compose herself and figure out what Finn's gift to her means, she's back at school and has to face the possibility that she'll need to talk to him about it sooner than she's really ready. Rachel knows that he hadn't compiled it with anything malicious in mind- it's only natural to want to try and find ways to help your friends, to point them in the direction of things that you know will interest them and to give them things you think they'll like.

She has no doubt that that's what Finn thought he was doing when he gave her the information. So she's not really angry.

She's nervous.

She visits her doctor twice a year, usually just for a perfunctory exam and she knows that her fathers keep a track of all the latest developments and clinical trials, but at her request none of them pass the information along to her anymore. There were just too many disappointments, and she couldn't deal with that on top of the stress of starting high school. So it's the first time in about three years she's read any literature on the topic, and it's very clear to her that there have been definite developments in the field in her years of self-imposed information black-out, and now she's second guessing that resolution.

What ifs are now running through her mind on a constant loop, a nerve-wracking persistent internal soundtrack to her every day life, (What if I'd done this years ago? What if I have to take time off school to do it? What if I'm not a candidate anymore? What if my parents can't afford it?) but the two biggest ones, the ones that she keeps coming back to are: "What if one of them works?" and "What if I try and it doesn't?"

She mulls them over in her mind, savouring them. She wonders what it would be like to finally see, wonders what colours actually look like. She was so young when she lost her vision that she hasn't any recollection she can take refuge in to feed her imagination, and colours are such an abstract idea in the first place...

But every time she comes around to that line of thought it inevitably leads her to the second 'What if', which just depresses her. It's partly why she instigated the information embargo in the first place. She doesn't like failure, even when it's something out of her control. It's why she plans and organises and sets herself targets and goals. She's pulling straight As in all of her classes because she's smart and she works hard for it because she knows that if she _does_ that work and _makes_ that effort it will get her the results she wants. None of the treatments available can give her those definitive odds, and the last thing she wants to do is set herself up for disappointment.

She wants to talk about it with someone, someone impartial, who won't just tell her to 'give it a shot' because 'what's the harm'. There is no topic off limits with her parents; they have an open book policy in their house. She's free to ask any question of them she wants, bring up any topic for conversation and they'll impart no judgement but give her advice if she asks for it. But right now she doesn't really know what to say to them, and try as hard as they want they can't be impartial on this topic. They want to find a cure for her, they always have. It's not to say they haven't supported her decision to not try and find one- they did, but she's always suspected that they harbour some sort of deep-seated guilt about the way she became blind in the first place, not that it was at all their fault either, but they would move cross oceans and topple cities if it made her life easier.

So when she arrives at school on the first day back, early as usual, she seeks out the guidance councillor's office first. Miss Pillsbury had been extremely helpful to her back when she was first getting herself established at the school. There are understandably issues that need to be addressed when the first blind student enrols at a public school, and Miss Pillsbury tackled all of them with ease, grace and extreme efficiency, something Rachel both admired and greatly appreciated. She still actively liaises with Rachel's teachers to help smooth out any problems they or Rachel may run across and is someone that Rachel considers an invaluable acquaintance.

She's basically the adult that Rachel trusts most, outside her own family. And she's the only one Rachel knows who can be impartial, or at least will do her best to help her figure out her own feelings on the issue, which is exactly what she needs help with right now.

"Rachel!" The councillor says cheerfully, her sensible heels clicking quietly against the tiled floor of the corridor. "What a lovely surprise!"

"Good morning, Miss Pillsbury." Rachel says, adjusting her grip on her cane. "Did you have a nice break?"

"It was lovely, thank you for asking." Miss Pillsbury says, and Rachel hears the subtle grind of metal on metal as she fits her key into the office door to unlock it. "And how about yourself? Did your parents take you anywhere?"

"Just to visit family in Cleveland."

"Well come on in and tell me all about it! I can put a pot of tea on if you'd like?"

"Oh. That would be nice. But I actually had something else to talk about, if that's alright. I know it's early and you probably have things to do." She says, nervous.

If Miss Pillsbury is offended, her voice doesn't show it. "Of course, my door is always open for you, Rachel."

She follows the woman into the room, which is as neat and precisely set out as usual, Miss Pillsbury likes things in order, so Rachel never has any problem navigating about this office. It smells of faint lemony disinfectant and hand sanitiser, but tempered by the neat smell of pressed textbooks and it always reminds her of the library. Two steps into the office and she grasps the back of the chair she usually sits in, hard-backed yet strangely comfortable. She listens as Miss Pillsbury unlocks her desk drawer and deposits her handbag quickly, before plugging in the kettle in the corner of the room and pulling out tea cups form a cupboard.

"So, Rachel." Miss Pillsbury says, finally sliding her own chair and sitting down on the other side of the desk. "What's on your mind? If you don't mind me saying, you do look a little preoccupied."

Her cheeks flush a little, and she resists the urge to apologise and leave before she dumps all her problems on this poor, unsuspecting kind teacher. She steels her resolve by reminding herself that this is Miss Pillsbury's job, to _guide_ her and give her advice when she's having problems.

So she explains everything from the start, from Finn finding out about Noah and Quinn's betrayal and him growing closer to her after Sectionals. Then she tells her about the folder that he gave her, about the pages and pages of information about new developments and treatments, some of which could potentially be helpful to her in her situation, but that it also confuses her. She finds it difficult to explain in parts, but Miss Pillsbury to her credit doesn't interrupt, and lets Rachel talk until the kettle boils in the corner of the room, and she is forced to stand up and finish making the tea.

"Did you talk to your parents about it?' She asks and pours the hot water into the two cups. Almost instantly Rachel can smell the soft tang of brewing tea fill the air. There is a sharp zest of lemon and orange pekoe in the air, which smells refreshing and helps clear her mind a little.

"No." Rachel says. "I wanted to talk to someone else first. I don't know what to think."

"What do you mean?"

Rachel hesitates, trying to corral her thoughts into something that she can find words to express. "I'm confused." She says finally, fisting her hands around nothing in her lap, wishing she could hold her cane, so instead she separates them and holds onto the handles of the chair. The hardness of the handles steadies her a little, and she continues on. "I was blind-sided by it, to be honest. Before the holidays we'd won the sectionals competition, and more people were talking to me, inviting me to things, especially Finn. I think he likes me, and I don't think he gave it to me to be mean, not like how some of the other students are... But as soon as I figured out what he'd given me I freaked out a little, because I had convinced myself that that wasn't an option anymore, for me..."

She trails off, acutely aware of the guidance councillor's silence, and feels it intruding upon her monologue.

The pause continues for another few more seconds, before Miss Pillsbury's chair creaks as she leans forward and she says: "Can I make an observation, Rachel?"

"Yes." Because this is exactly why she'd sought the teacher out. A third party, someone outside of the situation may be able to shed light on the situation, help her see the full picture as it were.

"I think you're confused because this was unexpected. You're like me, you like to be able to plan ahead for all possibilities, we may have our different reasons for doing it, but it means that our world can be upset quite easily by the things we don't anticipate, haven't planned for. This isn't about Finn giving you the information, it's about you realising the information is out there, and not knowing what to do about it."

Rachel makes a small noise of agreement in her throat, then swallows. "So what do I do then?"

"Well," Miss Pillsbury says in her prim cheerful all-business tone. "If _I_ were in your situation, I'd want to get that control back."

"Do you mean I should tell Finn that I don't want him to give me any more information about possible treatments?"

"No..." Miss Pillsbury says cautiously. "Not unless you want to. Because I think you do want to know, which is adding to your confusion. No, sweetheart, I think that what you need to do is look into your options yourself. Go to the library, research it yourself."

* * *

><p>Finn finds her later, during the break between first and second period. "I was looking for you this morning." He says quickly to her, pushing her locker door back so that it isn't between them as they talk. "I waited here, by your locker, but you never came."<p>

"Oh, I'm sorry, Finn." She says and turns to face him because she's been told its considered polite to be facing in the direction of someone talking with you. "I had to visit with Miss Pillsbury, I didn't know you'd be here."

She smiles a little at him, then turns back to her locker to continue switching out her books for her next class.

"No, that's cool, I should've organised to meet you instead of assuming you'd just be here..." He pauses for a moment, then says "What were you seeing Miss Pillsbury about?"

Her fingers pause for a moment skimming along the edge of her math textbook, "It was just a general housekeeping sort of meeting." She lies as evenly as she can and hopes that he can't tell she's being purposefully misleading. Non-verbal communication may not be an option for her, but she knows that body language and facial expressions can completely betray her if she's not careful. So she tries to keep the muscles in her face as relaxed and, she assumes, as neutral looking as possible. "We usually meet early in the term in case there have been any changes to my schedule, or around the school that I'd need to know about in advance."

"Oh, of course. I should've figured it was something like that." She can hear a smile in his voice, so she assumes that he didn't notice the lie. She smiles back, and closes her locker.

"Walk me to class?" She asks.

"Sure. I'd love to." He says, and fits her hand back into the crook of his elbow then walks her to her math.

* * *

><p>It takes about a week before she finds the time to act on Miss Pillsbury's advice and regain the control of information. The school library isn't particularly well stocked, and the books it does carry cater mostly to the sorts of topics that are covered by the classes offered, not to wider reading in general and definitely not for the sort of specialised topic that she's interested in.<p>

No, what she needs is databases and periodicals, which she knows from researching her history essays that the local county library has quite a sizable collection. It isn't as extensive as the local college library, but as she's not yet a college student, she can't check anything out there yet.

The librarians at the local library have been helping her with her research for years, one of her fathers is friends with a member of the board, and they have been expanding their range of aids for the blind, there are document readers, even ones that help her read sheet music (and the library's range of sheet music is also nothing to thumb one's nose at) and the staff there have taken the time and effort to demarcate the stacks with braille signs to help guide her in the right direction.

Edith, one of the younger, newer librarians helped Rachel set up the library's document reader on one of the more private tables near the piano, where she methodically searches through periodical index after periodical index, looking for studies and research into her particular form of blindness. Understandably there has been quite a few advances in the past decade, but she focuses first on things published in the last few years. Luckily the vocabulary and the super specific jargon that these medical journals are notorious for does not phase her as much as it would many others,

After a little while though she senses someone moving behind her, which is strange because the table Edith set her up at isn't in the main thoroughfare. The only reason someone would be moving back there would be to start playing the piano...

A few seconds after this thought occurs to her, someone starts playing the upright piano behind her and her fingers pause on the indented Braille words of the Spring 2009 issue of _Journey of Ophthalmology_ so she can listen. She can hear how deftly the fingers navigate the instrument, starting off with simple chromatic scales, moving to a major pentatonic scale, which tells Rachel the person sitting at the piano stool has had several years of professional training, before he launches into a familiar Lionel Richie ballad, the chords familiar and comforting, resonating happily in her mind.

The man's voice when he finally begins to sing is beautiful, strangely familiar, and not just because this particular song has long been a favourite of hers. No, she's heard the singer's voice somewhere before, and she has to wrack her memory to pinpoint where she's heard him before. He twists around in her seat to angle her ears better towards his voice, and when he finally reaches the chorus of the song she places it.

She's heard his voice singing Amy Winehouse and Duffy songs, though for those songs it was blended in with the rest of the chorus of Vocal Adrenaline. More recently she heard a snippet of one of his solos on a news article covering the nearby county school of Carmel's Nationals winning Glee Club making it once again to the Regional Show Choir competition. New Directions were not mentioned, but Rachel had taped the program just in case they had.

Jesse St. James. Here in the flesh, at her local library. It's the closest she's ever been to a celebrity (of sorts) and she feels a flush rising in her cheeks, what should she say? Should she say anything? He is a National Show Choir champion, perhaps he'll be able to give her some advice if she strikes up conversation.

He reaches a piano solo and elaborates a little on the chords, improvising on the original notes, but in such a way that enhances the melody. "You're Rachel Berry." He says over his notes, and she reacts a little in shock. He had caught her listening? And he knew who she was?

She feels her cheeks heat up even more than they had before. "Yes." She says, embarrassed.

"Do you know the song?" He asks, and she nods her head a little and smiles in his direction. "Sing with me."

He launches into the next chorus, and she joins him in singing the words. They harmonise together magically, him singing a tone above her own voice and blending perfectly with her as he does. She loves Finn's voice, but Jesse is most certainly a _much_ better vocalist, and it's only enhanced by the clear training and practice that he has put into developing his talent, just as she herself has done.

They finish the last note together, with the last notes of the piano resonating throughout the silent library, before applause erupts around them. It catches Rachel by surprise, the second time this afternoon, but it quells quickly, and she hears Jesse stand from the piano stool and take the seat by her side at the table.

"You're a wonderful singer, I hope you know that." He says, and she smiles.

"I know, but it's always lovely to be told." Rachel says. "You have a beautiful voice as well, I recognised it straight away. Jesse St. James"

"Please. Call me Jesse." He takes her hand gently in his own. It isn't dry like Finn's, and it does not have the hard guitar callouses that Puck's hand does. She can feel the same softness there of a man who knows the importance of moisturiser. Her fathers are both men like that; she finds it rather pleasant. "Rachel, I hope you don't find this forward, considering this is our first real meeting face-to-face and we are each other's competition, but I'd love to take you for coffee sometime. I want to get to know you, anyone with a voice as heavenly as your own is most certainly worth a chai latte and a scone."

_A date?_

"Now?" She asks, and her free hand drifts across to the journals scattered across the table. It will take her a while to pack up, and she'd need help.

"Oh, no, I can see you're busy here, and I wouldn't want to interrupt what is clearly some very involved research." He says elegantly. "But if you give me your number, I will call you later and we can find a time more convenient for the both of us to meet up."

She feels the weight of his hand in hers, and hopes that she isn't developing clammy palms like she sometimes can. "I'd like that." She says finally, then rattles off her number after he pulls out his smart phone. Her own cell phone is not as fancy as the ones her friends use, with indented individual buttons rather than a touch screen, and it's mostly controlled by voice commands. She programs his number in return, and he leaves her with nothing more than a gentle squeeze of the hand, promising to call her the following afternoon.

"It was lovely to meet you, Rachel." He says, and he disappears as quickly as he arrived.

* * *

><p>"So Rachel." Finn says, in the middle of a conversation they're having about song selections for regionals. "Did you look at that folder I gave you?"<p>

She knew it was only a matter of time before he brought it up, and she'd figured if she just ignored it, or didn't bring it up herself that maybe he would just forget it. He is pretty forgetful, after all, and maybe it was a little mean-spirited of her to bank on that particular character flaw, but _something_ had to go her way, right?

"I read it." She concedes eventually.

She can hear him start to say something, then he hesitates mid-syllable. It's probably more of that non-verbal communication coming up again, her face doesn't feel particularly relaxed, but then he caught her off guard.

"Did I do the wrong thing?" He asks, nervously. "I'm sorry, I should've asked you about it, it's just that being around you all the time made me curious, and I was thinking to myself what it would be like for you, and how difficult it could be, and I just wanted to see if I could find some way to make life easier for you, if I could..."

"Finn." She interrupts, and reaches across the table, searching for his hand. She knows he isn't very far away, but she miscalculates the distance and accidentally pokes him in the tummy before he grabs her hand and squeezes gently. "I know why you gave it to me. And... I appreciate the thought, but..."

"But you don't want me to do that anymore?"

"No... That sort of thing, it's something I want to do on my own, or with my Dads at least. "

"All right... I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I was just trying to help."

"I know. And I appreciate the thought-"

She is about to continue on with an attempt to steer the conversation back to Glee and a topic that she feels safer discussing, but her phone begins to vibrate across the desk, ringing loudly. It disturbs the both of them enough for Finn to drop her hand. The ring-tone trills with the Lionel Ritchie song she played at the library the week before. _Hello, is it me you're looking for?_

Rachel stills the vibrating phone with the hand Finn dropped, snatching it up from the desk. "Excuse me, I have to answer this." She says and pushes her chair back. She doesn't hear Finn following behind, and answers with the slightest of smiles when she's out of the room.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> Thank you for all the reviews and alerts, they feed my muse so the more of them I get the more enthused I am to write :D

I'm already anticipating complaints of No Puck This Chapter, s'cool, I can take em, just try to keep the personal aspersions to a minimum. I can PROMISE that he will have a much more important role in parts to come, but that this story is definitely turning into The Rachel Show, with special guest stars, rather than The Puckeberry show, or The Finchel Show, or The St Berry show. I hope you'll want to read it anyway!

I'm always open to any insights or criticism you may have, I'm doing my best to reply to anyone who leaves a comment!


	4. Your Moves Are So Raw

Kissing is new for her. She'd been kissed a lot, from the uncomfortably wet kisses her grandmother pressed against her cheeks in greeting to the gentle feathering of her father's lips against her temple at night before she went to bed as a child. But kissing, on the lips, by someone who's not a relative- that's new.

She didn't know what to expect, really. Lips weren't something she'd ever put much thought into, they were there to help produce sounds, and to help her eat, and got mighty chapped in the cold winter air but the kissing thing had never really made any sense to her when she read about it in stories, or heard it described in songs. Surely teeth would knock and halitosis was a rampant problem amongst the teenagers at her school (care and personal hygiene in general really).

So she was pleasantly surprised at just how... well... pleasant, it was.

Jesse's soft hands hold her gently in place, one just above her hip and the other threads through her hair at the back of her head. She's not sure where she should place her own hands, but they seem to naturally find a home pressing against his chest, gripping the fabric of his silky dress shirt tightly before she relaxes a little and dares to slide her hand around his rib cage to his back where it rests comfortably beneath his shoulder blade.

After a few minutes he pulls back a little, and brushes the hair away from her face, then he places a series of soft, moist kisses beneath her left ear, and it shouldn't feel as nice as it does, but it tickles a little, and the sensation tingles all the way from her ear down her spine and she gasps, then feels Jesse's lips twitch and smile against her skin.

"You're so adorable." He murmurs quietly and kisses her on the lips again, and his hand slides along her waist, just skimming her breast a little then back again, and her breath hitches, and the tingling sensation ripples across her body again.

"Jesse." She says, after a little while of this, and moves her hand to what feels like a more decorous position on his hip.

"Mmm?" Jesse hums quietly, sliding the collar of her top aside so he can place a kiss on the point where her neck meets her shoulder.

"Can you slow down a little?" She asks, but her voice is breathy and insubstantial, and maybe a little squeaky in her nervousness.

"Just relax!" Jesse says, and kisses her on the lips again.

"Mmrph." She says, and pushes her head back into the pillows in an effort to escape his lips, but he follows her and puts a little more of his own weight on her. "Please, Jesse." She says.

He stills above her, then lets out a heavy, dramatic breath. "All right." He says, and pulls away. "I thought you were into it." His hand brushes the side of her breast as he sits back up. Rachel can't tell if it was intentional or not.

"I was... I am." She says quickly, and she runs her fingers along the front of her blouse, checking all of her buttons are still in place. Only the top one has come undone, but she doesn't re-button it just yet. "I've just never... You're the first one I've done anything like this with before..." She feels embarrassed, like she could easily let her duvet and blankets and multitudes of pillows swallow her up so she doesn't have to continue this conversation.

"Right." Jesse says, and to her his voice sounds a little strained.

"I really liked it." She says. "It's just too much, too fast."

Jesse doesn't say anything, but she feels his weight leave the bed as he stands. "I'm sorry, Rachel." He says. "You're right, we should take it more slowly. And honestly it's probably about time I left if I want to be back at Carmel for practice before Coach Corcoran starts dividing my solos amongst the other tenors."

Rachel smiles and stands as well, reaching out for his hand, which he places in her palm. "Of course. We can't have that." She says, and means it. She knows the value of a solo and how quickly they can be parcelled away from you if you're not vigilant in your dedication. And even then sometimes it's not enough. "I really enjoyed tonight. Dinner was lovely. Thank you for the date."

"Any time." He says warmly, and cups her face with his other hand and kisses her gently on the lips one last time before he collects his things and leaves.

After he's gone, she sets about tidying her room a little before her parents get home from _their_ date and she is subjected to the Berry Family Twenty Questions. She doesn't mind the questions much, her parents have always encouraged open conversation amongst the family, and she is happy to oblige them if they ask her directly (and it isn't as mortifying as it could be, given that the questions are never asked in order to be judgemental) but that isn't to say she needs to leave out clues and markers that tell them all they need to know.

So she tucks her sheets back in and smooths out the wrinkled duvet she and Jesse had been rolling about on top of, and once her pillows are fluffed and set back into ordered position on her bed she starts getting ready for her nightly shower.

She shucks her clothes and deposits them into the hamper behind her bathroom door and turns the shower taps on to run for a few seconds before she steps underneath the spray. For a moment or two she relaxes and simply enjoys the wonderful sensation of water moistening her hair and flowing down the curve of her spine, massaging her shoulders and chest and thawing the tips of her fingers.

There are pump bottles attached to wall on her right, all Braille labelled- shampoo, conditioner, face wash and sorbolene cream - and she quickly pumps the shampoo bottle twice and rubs it quickly into a lather in her hair, then rinses it out just as quickly.

Her nightly shower, like everything else in her life, is based around routine and organisation, with everything in its place, but of all her routines she likes her shower best. It's partly the hot steamy water, and the way the air in her bathroom becomes humid and clogged with steam and it fills her nostrils and her lungs and opens her pores (she always feels fresh and clean after). But it's also the solitude, the ten minutes she has to herself every night to just decompress and work out the kinks of the day, whether they be muscular, psychological or emotional. Sometimes it even feels like by working it out in here, she washes away some of her problems. Not all of them, of course, that would be silly, but it is definitely more than just hygiene for her.

She applies the conditioner to her hair and squirts a generous amount of sorbolene cream onto her palm which she begins to rub into her skin. First her armpits, then across her shoulders, down her arms, across her breasts and down to her stomach, hips and between her legs. She does it slowly, feeling the curves of her body in an almost clinical fashion.

From what she reads in books and magazines, she knows that women are considered more beautiful if they're big breasted, if they have wider hips. There are other things too, like blonde hair, and fair skin, neither of which she has. She has brown hair, and skin that tans easily in the sun, and a line of freckles run across her nose- all of this her Dads have described to her. Not that she understands why it matters. But she cups her breasts for a moment or two, considering their size, and the way her nipples are a little more sensitive than the skin around them, before washing away the cream. She'd never realised how sensitive they were until Jesse's hand brushed across them and that nice tingling sensation had rippled across her skin.

They hadn't taught that in health class. Lessons on that particular part of her anatomy had extended to 'girls begin to develop them at age 11 and are usually completely developed by age 15' and 'pregnancy induces lactation', and not much beyond. It makes her realise exactly how little she knows about sex in general, besides the very basic biological requirements and "don't do it, you'll get pregnant".

It occurs to her now that there is clearly more to it than that. Of course she _knows_ this, she does read after all, and quite a fair bit more widely than her class mates from what she can gather, who seem limited to Twilight, Harry Potter and their Facebook feeds, but there are still questions that can't be answered by the scant details the few paragraphs of erotica that her books provide.

She knows it can be pleasurable and that it can be fun. She hears adjectives like 'sexy' and 'hot' thrown around, and she knows that it's the primary activity at most of the big boozy parties the Cheerios throw every weekend. She wants to explore that. Not the parties, those she's pretty sure she can do without. But the feelings, those urges... That tingling sensation that rippled across her skin was only the tip of the iceberg, and she knows she wants to feel it again. And more. And she wants to make Jesse feel them too. But she also knows that there is a lot she _doesn't_ know about sex, like how to keep it safe, how to know when you're ready. It's another thing that she doesn't want to ask her parents about just yet, besides, it's something she feels she might be more comfortable discussing with another woman, and the only one in her family who would be remotely suitable for that discussion is her Aunt Carol... Which... No.

Rachel decides, as she shuts off the water and grasps her fluffy warm towel from the hook beside the shower, that this is probably the perfect opportunity to ask people her own age. They're going through the same kind of exploration that she is, and they're her peers... She thinks she'd feel less embarrassed if she's talking about it with Tina, than Aunt Carol. She thinks she'd even prefer Miss Pillsbury, and that is not so far out of her job description, after all...

Once she's dry, she wraps the towel around her torso and knots it between her breasts, squeezing the last bit of moisture from her hair over her sink. She resolves to think about it a little more tomorrow, and keep her ears perked for any opportunity to bring the topic up with... someone.

Of course it doesn't work out like she plans

* * *

><p>The topic doesn't exactly come up naturally when she's talking with Tina- the girl is painfully shy, though usually not so much around Rachel, but when Rachel asks how far she and Artie had progressed with their relationship on a physical level, Tina's stutter becomes so bad that Rachel can barely understand every second word.<p>

Perhaps she had been a little too blunt. She resolves to try a more subtle approach next time.

She finds Miss Pillsbury in her office during lunch the next day, and the smell of personal hand-sanitiser is so strong once she opens the door that it hits her like an almost physical wall. Rachel steels herself and takes a long breath of the relatively fresh hall-way air (which honestly smells like feet, what with all the teenagers present) and settles herself in her usual seat across from the guidance counselor and explains her situation.

"Oh... Rachel." The older woman says, and Rachel hears the distinctive pump of the hand sanitiser bottle and the sound of slightly wet hands rubbing together. "I'm not sure I'm the best person to talk about this with."

"But you're the school's guidance counselor." Rachel says, a little confused. She expected this sort of reaction from _Tina_, not _Emma_. This is her job.

"Yes." Emma says. "But this is normally something people talk with their parents about... Your mother..."

"I can't do that. You know that." Rachel frowns, wishing she didn't sound so snappy. She doesn't mean to, sometimes her frustration just comes out in her voice.

"Yes... Of course. But didn't you learn that sort of thing in Health Class?"

"Coach Tanaka didn't go into specifics a lot." Rachel says with a shrug. "To be frank he sounded about as embarrassed at having to deliver the lecture as my classmates were at having to listen to it."

She doesn't mention that Noah Puckerman had corrected the physical education teacher on more than one point. It had seemed needlessly disruptive at the time, but about now Rachel is wondering if Noah is really the person she should be asking these things of-

No. Rachel nips that thought trail in the bud before it has the chance to grow any larger and into something that begins to resemble a good idea, because she knows that it isn't. She continues on explaining her problem to Miss Pillsbury: "Besides, it was a mostly visual presentation, which is of no use to me."

"What about another female relative you're comfortable with?" Emma suggests.

This of course frustrates Rachel a little more, and she lets out a little huff of air to emphasise it, which Emma cannot miss.

"No." Rachel says finally, and gathers her messenger bag and cane in hand. "I'll figure something out." She mutters as she stands and leaves the guidance office, for the first time without a satisfying plan she can implement to tackle her issue.

Maybe she's going about this the wrong way. Maybe it isn't something she can talk out or solve by herself. Maybe this is something she'll need to just... learn as she goes. From what she gathers, it's probably how the rest of her school friends figure it out, by just diving right into all sorts of experiences, whether or not they may be healthy, and dealing with the consequences later. Even if those consequences are not so easily overcome.

She takes a left as she leaves the office, figuring that now she has the rest of her lunch break free she can collect the books for her next class and get a little ahead on her history reading in the library and also avoid the end-of-lunch crowds near the lockers. The hallway isn't completely empty of course, with other students milling about switching out books, collecting packed lunches, gossiping as they leave and enter the bathrooms at either end of the hall but Rachel is able to avoid them all with ease. She finds her locker with no trouble and collects her own lunch, packed for her that morning by her father before he dropped her off. He'd handed it to her with his customary kiss to her cheek before ushering her into her other father's car, just like he does every morning. Maybe their morning routine is rather corny, but she loves it and wouldn't trade it for anything.

She spends the rest of the day running through her options and has almost resigned herself to asking her Aunt Carol the next time she visits from Missouri until she gets a surprise in her last class of the day.

"Rachel." Kurt says, sitting down in the seat next to her in the library. Her things are, as usual, already spread out across the desk so she can make the most of her study period.

"Kurt." She acknowledges, and turns her head so she is facing in his direction. To be quite frank, other than one of the Cheerios, Kurt Hummel is one of the last people she would've expected to seek her out willingly, and she is a little confused as to why he would be starting a conversation with her. Perhaps he is here to ask for some Glee related assistance. He may have an angelic voice but he could definitely use some help with his upper register and she is more than happy to provide advice if he wants it.

But that isn't what he wants.

"I heard you talking to Tina this morning." He says bluntly. "And I'm going to try and keep this as free of awkwardness as possible, for both our sakes, and since I know that tact is not your forte, I'll be as straight with you as possible."

She swallows, not sure where this is going at all. "We know you're dating Jesse St. James, and that he's the lead singer of Vocal Adrenaline. And we think that he's using you."

"What?"

"They will do anything to win, Rachel. I heard they got the lead singer of Dalton Academy placed on academic probation for plagiarism and ineligible for extracurricular activities because they hacked his computer and published his essays online to make it look as though he'd bought them, and we all know Dalton Academy haven't made it past Regionals in years."

"Who is this _we_?" She asks, suspiciously.

"The Glee Club. We had a meeting at lunch time."

This makes her angry.

"I know who he is and where he's from." Rachel says, stiffening in her seat. "And who I date is my choice, not something to be dictated by my friends."

Kurt snorts dismissively. "I'm not saying this as your friend, Rachel. If I was saying this as your friend I'd be a lot more sensitive, and then I'd be there with a tub of Ben and Jerry's and a box of tissues when he inevitably breaks your heart. No. I'm doing this because we were betrayed at Sectionals by our team and the last thing we need is the same to happen at Regionals as well. Least of all by you."

"I'm not _betraying_ the team by dating Jesse!" She says, and she honestly can't believe she's having this conversation. No one has ever talked to her like this before, so rude, so condescending, and _so_ unwelcome.

"Really?" Kurt asks. "Then why do I see Finn walking around the halls staring at you like you broke his heart? How is that good for team unity, having our male lead look like you killed his puppy?"

Rachel's stomach drops. Had she really hurt his feelings that badly? Finn had seemed so understanding, last time they'd talked. And she had been doing her best to keep her new relationship on the down low, so as to avoid any possible tension between them. She values his friendship, after all, and with the Quinn/Puck debacle from before sectionals, she knows he valued her support as well.

How has she missed all that?

"Exactly." Kurt says primly, not letting her form a reply. "Do everyone a favour, Rachel, and break up with St. James. It'll only end badly anyway, so just save yourself the heartbreak, and save us from your inevitably over-done rendition of Eric Carmen's 'All By Myself' that you'll share with us in order to vent your feelings on the issue. Your voice is much more suited to Broadway."

The final bell goes and she hears the students around her begin packing up, Kurt included.

"I'll see you tomorrow in Glee." He says, once all his things are packed away into his own bag, and he leaves her there alone to gather her things and with... well... everything.

She feels betrayed, though she knows that perhaps that is taking things to the extreme. But to find that the people who she thought were starting to like her, and who she was beginning to count as her friends had discussed her behind her back makes her angry. She wants to know for sure whether Tina or Artie were there, Kurt had implied as much, but she wants confirmation. They'd been her only real friends her entire time at McKinley High; she would even call them her best friends. And Finn! She hadn't known he felt that way about her.

She shuts her notebook and slots it into her bag, and for the first time ever she doesn't take her library books back up to Mrs Henderson to put away, nor does she pack up the document reader. She just leaves, wanting to grab her things from her locker and get out of the school as quickly as possible.

Once she's out in the hallway, she hears the heavy step of one of the school's many footballers (they have a certain gait that singles them out from their classmates), but she takes a few seconds to sort herself out, securing bag safely across her shoulder before she unfolds her cane and sets it on the ground.

There is little warning but for the faint, yet sickly sweet smell of artificially flavoured syrup before the cold ice hits her face and the cruel laugh echoes in her ears.

She's been slushied.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Sorry for the delay! I got stuck, it happens. And yeah, the ending is evil :D Please review!_


	5. Blue Is Not Your Colour

**Blue is not your colour**

"Take that, gleek."

The ice is so cold.

That's the first thing she notices as some of it slides down her cheeks and falls onto her clavicles. And it _stings_ her eyes, and tears immediately spring free in a wild attempt to clear her eyeballs of the sickly sweet syrup that she can't blink out. She drops her cane to the ground and wipes her face free of some of the ice, only to find her fingers get tangled in her now wet matted hair...

And the laughter is _so_ cruel.

Then a strong, violent shiver courses down her spine, and it's not because of the ice. She feels vulnerable and cold and alone because she can still hear the footballer laughing with his friends at the end of the corridor as everyone else who's there has been spooked into silence. She doesn't really expect any of them to come and help her, the best she's ever been treated in this school is a sort of unaffected indifference, and she is fine with that. Normally, she's fine with that.

Right now she wants someone, anyone, to help her. Because she doesn't know what to do.

"Rachel?" A voice says from behind her, and she lets out a strange noise she never remembers ever making before. It's somewhere between a gasp, a cry and a gurgle.

"Noah?" She asks.

"Yeah." He says angrily, though she can tell it's not directed her. "What happened? Who did this?"

Rachel can only assume that his first question is rhetorical as another clump of ice falls from her shoulder to the floor with a splat. The second question disturbs her more, and her lip begins to wobble. "I don't know." She says weakly.

"This is disgusting." He says, and he gently grabs her elbow. She can feel him lean down and pick up her cane which he places back in her palm. "Here you go, hold onto that. We'll get you cleaned off then figure out who did this."

She can't hear anyone else in the hallway, the culprits having long gone and while she hadn't noticed where Puck had arrived from she could only assume that he'd turned up while she'd been distracted by the ice. She feels strangely lethargic right now, maybe the ice is numbing her emotions as well as her scalp, but her brain just isn't really processing anything very well right now. Instead she focuses on the things that are simple enough for her to retain. The Ice. Puck. The click of his cell phone. The foamy grip of her cane, now sticky with syrup.

"Hey Britt," Puck says abruptly, surprising her a little. "I need you to come to the Spanish hallway right away, it's an emergency... No the Spanish hallway is the one with the trophy cabinet... Can you bring a change of clothes?... Who is that in the background?... Don't bring her... Lie or something..." the anger in his voice hasn't dissipated, it's just been replaced with an odd, business-like determination.

He ends the call without saying goodbye to Brittany and returns his full attentions to her. She feels less exposed with him here, but is no less mortified by the situation.

"Who would do this?" she asks, feeling oddly dumb.

There is an awkward pause before he says: "I only saw you." he says, and there is something in his tone that she can't identify... It's too calm, like he is forcing it for appearance's sake.

A door squeaks open and closed at the end of the hall and light footsteps signal to Rachel the approach of others. She tightens her grip on Puck's bicep.

"Oh!" Brittney says. "Blue is not your colour."

"It's just Brittany and Santana," he murmurs quietly in her ear, then says to the new arrivals: "I told you not to let her come."

"Fuck off, Puckerman, you are not my keeper," the abrasive cheerleader says, and Rachel beneath the almost overwhelming scent of blueberry syrup Rachel notes the distinctive smell of hairspray, antiperspirant and cayenne pepper that follows the Cheerios everywhere. "Who slushied Berry?" Santana asks bluntly.

Rachel shivers again and Puck bites out a snappy: "We don't know. But you and I are going to find out. Britt, can you-" and Rachel feels her elbow being passed along to the taller girl who wastes no time guiding her into the nearest bathroom, leaving Santana and Noah in the hallway. Normally, she'd be cranky at being passed between them like that, but right now she appreciates the contact, that these three people who last year wouldn't have given her the time of day are now shepherding her between them to somewhere she can be safe.

In fact, as soon as she's alone with Brittany in the bathroom, and the cheerleader is using a few wet paper towels to sponge the ice from her face, the tears start to flow, and she doesn't even bother trying to stop them.

Brittany, to her credit, doesn't seem phased and is very understanding, handing her another paper towel to blot away the tears before helping her out of her now ruined cardigan. She then guides her down onto a hard plastic chair that is apparently stored in this bathroom for occasions such as this so that she can wash out Rachel's hair in the sink.

For the most part Brittany works in silence, and Rachel is kind of grateful for it. She's doing her best to get her tears under control and way that Brittany is massaging her scalp to rid it of the icy clumps is soothing.

"This was really mean." Brittany says when she finally turns the faucet off. "You didn't see, but Puck was really angry. I haven't seen him that angry ever, not even when he loses at football."

Rachel sniffs deeply to clear her head. "I heard." She nods and then Brittany is gently squeezing her hair of the excess moisture. Rachel hears the water circling down the drain. "-In his voice." She clarifies.

"I'm sorry."

Rachel considers telling Brittany that she doesn't need to apologise, but before she can say anything the door to the bathroom squeaks open. "You decent in there?" Noah asks, and Rachel can hear the anger isn't quite gone.

"Yes." Rachel says and sits up, and two sets of footsteps enter into the bathroom. Someone sits a bag down on the bench beside her and she hears the whir of a zip and the gentle rustling of clothes before someone presses a dry towel into her hands. "There," Santana says. "We found you a spare set of clothes too so now you can toss that creepy cat sweater away. It's ruined anyway."

"Thanks." She says, and presses the towel to her face and hair, trying to pat the moisture away.

"We couldn't find them." Noah reports, sounding disappointed. Rachel's stomach rolls nervously, but she's glad that she can hide her face in the towel. She feels dangerously close to tears again. "Could you recognise their voice, smell, anything distinctive?"

"I bet it was that asshole, Karofsky." Santana adds. "His panties have been in a twist since Carrie Davies didn't fuck him at the after party last week."

His questioning is rather predatory, and Santana's comments make her uncomfortable, and honestly while Rachel appreciates the sentiment, she just wants to get home. She shakes her head. "No. I'm sorry."

"Did anyone else see?" Noah asks.

"I don't know..." She says, "I could hear there were other people in the hallway, but..." Her voice wavers again, and she feels another tear slip down her face. She presses the towel back against her useless eyes and hides again. She'd brought this on herself. If she could see, she might've been able to avoid this whole situation altogether, or at least would've been able to identify the culprit. But she can't, and she's overwhelmed with an almost suffocating sense of uselessness and self-loathing.

Rachel feels someone gently take her by the elbow again, this time helping her to stand and corralling her into one of the stalls. "I'll help you change and Puck will drive you home." Brittany says kindly.

The clothes she changes into are clean at least, though they're not her size. From the smell of the laundry detergent, she thinks they belong to Santana, and she wonders if she's been put into a spare Cheerios outfit, but doesn't really feel like asking. Brittany natters quietly as she helps her out of her sodden blouse, filling the silence with little compliments about Glee, and random observations about the bathroom stall and her day, but whether it's designed to distract her or just because it's something to say, Rachel isn't sure. She's not really listening anyway. She does, however, catch snatches of the conversation that Noah and Santana have from the other side of the door, even though they're whispering quietly between themselves:

"I'll figure out who did it." Santana says, "Slushying her is a dick move. Even if you are at the bottom of the food chain, this school has standards."

"Let me know as soon as you do."

"Yeah, yeah."

* * *

><p>They don't say much to each other on the drive home. Rachel because she still feels acutely vulnerable and Noah because he doesn't know what to say. He takes a different route home to her place than the one that her fathers usually drive, and his truck is bigger and less comfortable than her Daddy's hybrid. The silence gives her time alone with her thoughts though, and in the time between leaving school and getting home, she's started forming a plan of action for herself to deal with Kurt and his accusation, and the slushy, and everything to do with the problems she's having with Jesse. She isn't going to just stand by and take it anymore. Maybe she has the Cheerios uniform to thank for this new drive and determination. Maybe she's just sick of being humiliated. She's going to take back her control, just like Miss Pillsbury said to do.<p>

She's so caught up in her planning, that when Noah turns into her street and pulls his truck into the driveway she barely even notices until he scares her out of her reverie with a question.

"Where are your dads?" He asks, as soon as he's switched the motor off.

"How do you know they're not home?" She counters.

He unclicks his belt. "No cars in the garage. I have a couple of clients in your street, I pass by here pretty often."

She didn't know that. She wonders if the rumours about him and the lonely housewives of Lima are true, and if they're true in the case of the lonely Mrs Clarkson down the street.

"They're out tonight. Thursday night is date night." She explains, and unclicks her own belt, then feels around the door to let herself out. Puck reaches over and unlocks the door for her, pushing it open.

"Are you gonna be alright by yourself?" He asks, hesitantly.

She is about to answer 'Yes', when it occurs to her that she could probably use his help, at least for now. "Can you come inside? I need a favour."

"Sure." Noah says, and they head inside together. She locks the door behind him, and feels across the wall for the light-switch to illuminate the hall for his benefit, then leads him into the kitchen where she deposits her school things and wet clothes to be dealt with later.

"I'm thirsty. Would you like a drink?" She offers, remembering her manners.

"Sure." He says with a shrug, and she can tell that he is watching her closely. It's the first time she's ever had anyone other than Tina or Artie or Finn over her house, and she should be attempting to be a better hostess, showing him around but she doesn't imagine he really cares what the layout of her parents house is. Besides, that's not why she invited him here.

"I've never seen you move around this quickly before." Noah says quietly, as she deftly moves about the kitchen, fetching two clean glasses from the cupboard and the filtered water from the fridge to pour them both a glass. She pushes his glass across the counter in his direction, and sips from her own as she puts the water jug back into the fridge.

"Don't you move around with more confidence in your house?" She asks.

"I suppose."

"I know where everything is here. No one moves things around on me to mess with me, or deliberately tries to make my life more difficult."

It's then that she realises that perhaps she needs to take the opportunity to calm down a little, and stop directing her anger at Noah, who'd been the one who'd found her, and taken care of her, despite the way he may have acted towards her in the past. She takes a big gulp of water and lets out a deep breath.

"I'm sorry." She says awkwardly.

"No." Noah says sharply, and he sets his glass down on the table. "Don't be, you've got every right to be pissed."

"But not at you."

He makes a dismissive noise, and she takes it as a sign to move past it. "What did you need me to do for you?" He asks.

"I need to find something in my father's study." She says, running through the steps of her plan of attack in her mind. "I need to find my adoption papers."

If he's at all phased by the left-field request, he doesn't voice his opinion, and is instead happily led from the kitchen to the study and directed to the filing cabinets in the corner.

"I'd find the files myself," She explains, as he opens the first drawer. "But it would take me a lot longer than if you get them out for me."

"What am I looking for?" Noah asks, and she hears the rustling of paper and clinking of metal as he pushes files back and forth within the filing cabinet.

Rachel hesitates a little. "I'm not sure what their filing system is like, is there anything labelled 'Adoption papers'?"

Noah makes a little negative noise in the back of his throat. "Nothing like that, it's all dates. 'Fall 2000', 'Spring 2007', that sort of thing."

"Well I was born in winter of 1994, so maybe Spring or Summer of the same year." She says, and she hears him flicking through to find those folders.

After a few quiet moments, filled with more clinking and paper rustling he says: "I've got them." and pushes the cabinet drawer closed with his foot once he's pulled out the files they need.

"My parents would have copies of the contracts they signed with my birth mother in there somewhere. Probably medical certificates... Something should have her name on it."

She hears more rustling of papers as Noah begins to skim through them quickly, then he pauses. "Rachel, this kind of makes me uncomfortable. This is private stuff..."

"But it's about me... And I give you permission."

"I thought you were open with your parents, why can't you just ask them?"

"I... I just need to do this for myself... You've done the hard part now though, I'll go get my reader from my bedroom, I can look through it all myself."

"Nah, it'll be quicker if I help." He says. "And this way you owe me."

The flippant way he says the last bit belies that he is joking with her, and it makes her smile a little. "Why does that make me think that being in debt to Noah Puckerman is something I may end up regretting?"

He laughs a little, but doesn't reply. Instead he continues flicking through the files until... "Hey, I think this might be it. It's definitely a contract, signatures and everything. You want me to wait while you get your reader?"

"No. Just read it out, it'll be quicker."

"There are a lot of big words on here..." He says, hesitantly, but begins to read anyway.

_**DECLARATION OF INTENT**_

_I, _Shelby Amanda Corcoran_ hereby acknowledge that I have agreed to carry and give birth to a child conceived via in vitro fertilization through the union of my ovum/ova and _Hiram Jackson Berry_'s sperm, so that _Hiram Jackson Berry_ may have a child genetically related to them. I waive any and all physical or legal custody or any parental rights or any duties whatsoever with respect to any child born of this gestational surrogacy process. It is my intention that the genetic and intended parents, _Hiram Jackson Berry_ and _Leroy James Berry_, shall exclusively have such custody and all parental rights and duties._

_I further acknowledge that it is in the best interests of any child born of this gestational surrogacy process for _Hiram Jackson Berry_ and _Leroy James Berry_ to have sole custody of the said child. I therefore agree to cooperate fully in allowing them to bond with and take custody of said child from the moment of its birth._

"-And then it's just signatures and stuff, both that Shelby woman and both your dads. And the lawyers, and witnesses." Noah explains.

Shelby Amanda Corcoran. That's her mother's name. _Why_ does it sound so familiar?

"Does that name sound familiar to you?" She asks out loud, not really expecting Noah to know, it just twinges something in the back of her mind.

"No." And after a pause, and more shuffling of paper. "There is a photo in here of her though..." and he lets a soft whistle out between his lips.

"What is it? Do you recognise her?" She asks eagerly, leaning forward to be closer to him and this proof of her mother's existence as a person. "What does she look like?"

"No." Noah says. "No I don't recognise her. But she looks just like you. It's weird. Same hair, same nose... Same eyes. She's beautiful."

She feels a pang in her chest, something deep and powerful, and oddly painful, and she doesn't quite know what to do with the feeling.

"Um." She says, and clears her throat a little, "What else does it say in there?"

"Um." Noah mumbles, and there is more rustling of paper. "Your birth certificate is in here- You were 5 pounds, 2 ounces at birth... Wow. You _were_ small." He says, and to her there is something odd in the tone of his voice when he says that that she can't just let slide past her without comment.

"How do you know what a small baby weighs?" She asks, a little offended.

"My mom is a nurse." He says, but he sounds guilty, like he's intentionally only telling half the story.

"But I thought she worked at the nursing home."

"She does. But nurses talk about those things. And my sister was small too. I remember that. Not as small as you, though. There's also a few letters from some fertility clinic in Cleveland."

Rachel nods, still not sure he's telling her everything, but she decides it's not important. Instead she returns to her mother, wracking her brain to try and remember where she's heard the name 'Shelby Corcoran' before. Maybe her parents had mentioned her in passing as an old family friend, though it doesn't seem likely. They've always been open with her about everything, except her maternity, which has honestly never been an issue before for them. She's sure that if she'd ever asked them outright about her mother they would've produced the very same file that Noah is now flicking through and answered all of her questions and more.

Part of her feels a little guilty about doing this behind her fathers' back, but another part of her likes the feeling of independence it gives her, knowing that she has discovered this information for herself at her own behest- even if she's used someone else to do so.

No, her mother's name doesn't really feel contextualised by her fathers. But it does slot somewhere else in her life. Maybe she heard her name on the news? No. Somewhere else...

"Rachel." Noah says gently, distracting her from her train of thought and bringing her back into the present. "Why do you need to know all this now?" He asks, and he sets a gentle hand on her shoulder, twisting her to face in his direction.

Again, she hesitates, not sure what she wants to tell him and what she wants to keep to herself, and she spends a few moments flip-flopping between her options before deciding that after his help this afternoon, both at school and now here at home, she should probably return the favour, and trust him a little in return.

"I've recently been made aware of a treatment option that might help me get some of my vision back." She explains quietly, acutely aware that she'd told him only a few months ago that treatment wasn't an option for her.

"And your mother can help you with that? Some sort of donor deal?" He asks.

"Sort of. I'd need stem cells from a compatible source for the process, and I know my parents have other embryos in cryogenic storage at a clinic they haven't used... But I'd need her permission to use them. I think. There's probably a contract somewhere in there that details it all."

She reaches out to him, reaching for the folder he holds in his hands, and he passes it to her. "Well. If you need any more help or whatever. You've got my number."

"You've been more than helpful enough, thank you Noah." She says with a smile, because she is genuinely grateful for his help. "And thank you for driving me home, and for helping me at school."

"Don't mention it." He says gruffly, and he brushes his hand against her elbow, taking her hand and fitting it around his arm. "It won't happen again, though." He promises.

She doesn't know what to say to that, and she doesn't really want him to elaborate just at this moment. Instead she changes tact. "Did we have a glee meeting this afternoon? Kurt mentioned something about it."

"No." Noah says, and she hears his frown. "I thought that was Tuesdays."

"It is. He said it was a special one they called because of my relationship with Jesse St James." She explains.

"What, that Vocal Adrenaline guy?"

"Yes." She nods. "Apparently they're concerned that since I'm dating the competition, I'm a threat to the group."

"Who the fuck cares who you're dating? As long as he's not being a dick to you, I don't care."

She instantly feels a little better, knowing that Kurt was exaggerating his claims, and that there is still one person who hasn't turned on her.

* * *

><p><em>Sorry for the delay, major writers block and I'm honestly a little bored of this story. I know how I want to end it, it's the getting there that's tedious. I have got a few other ideas I'm working on though and I've signed up for the Glee Big Bang on LJ, and have something in mind for that though!<em>

_Please leave reviews, they really do boost me up and I've had a pretty shitty day!_


End file.
